Rage of the Eternal
by Lord22
Summary: Enemies are at the gates of Ashenvale Forest. Orcs and humans roam freely through the lands of the night elves, the Burning Legion has returned, and Archimonde walks the world once again. Will the night elves be able to halt the advance of their enemies? Or will the fall of Ashenvale Forest mark the end of all things. The finale of the Mercyverse.
1. Enemies at the Gates

**Chapter One: Enemies at the Gate**

Tyrande Whisperwind sat atop her white tiger at the peak of a high mountain. Beneath her she saw the forests of Ashenvale stretching before her. They were uneasy. The birds were unnaturally quiet.

And the invaders were hewing the trees.

Although Cenarius had stemmed the greenskins once, they had returned. Now they were helped by metal clad pink skins who wielded strange weapons. Even some of the tauren had joined them.

Beneath her, Ash'alah stirred uneasily. An errant gust brought with it the scent of fire and smoke. Tyrande's blue haired flowed around her. Then she heard soft footsteps and looked down the pathway behind her.

Shandris Feathermoon made her way up the hill. The Sentinel halted some ways behind her, unsteady. "Pardon, Priestess, but you've been staring out across Ashenvale for hours."

"I sense something dark stirring within the forests, Shandies." said Tyrande. "It feels as though it is heading this way."

"The greenskins who killed Cenarius?" asked Shandris, concern in her tone.

"Perhaps," said Tyrande, "perhaps something more." Reaching out one hand, and owl came to her arm, and she sent it forth into the wildness. Watching through its eyes, she saw it come over the camp of the orcs. Many of the pink skins had joined them and begun hewing trees.

A large pink skin, with a black beard who wielded a great hammer called to his men. "Put your backs into it! Jaina and the Orc Warchief expect this base to be built swiftly!" Obviously, this one was the one in authority. Kill him, and the others would disperse.

"Bah!" snapped a pink skin. "We shouldn't even be here! Or siding with the orcs!"

"We're here to hunt the remaining demons, human." snapped an orc, one of the greenskins. "You're lucky our goals are the same!"

"Alright you men!" said the leader. "Mind your business, back to work!"

Tyrande drew back her gaze, a grim resolve flowing through her. Cenarius was dead. But she would act in his place. "So, these orcs and humans presume to run rampant through our lands? They will regret ever setting foot into Ashenvale. We deal with these outlanders as they deserve."

Together they rode down the hill and found their way towards the night elven village. As they walked, the shadowy forms of their sisters came into view behind them. More and more were among them and soon they had gathered a large warband.

The night elves were marching to war.

As they entered the village, Tyrande's eyes glazed with memory. She could remember a time when all that had been here were ancient oaks. Yet as the night elven population had grown. Tyrande had personally overseen the construction of a new village. That had been hundreds, if not thousands of years ago. The ancient of war loomed before the tree of life, while wisps worked their magic by singing wood from the trees.

"Shandies," said Tyrande, "send messengers to the nearby villages. Tell them that the time to avenge Cenarius has come."

"As you wish, Priestess." said Shandris.

Cenarius had fallen, but not before slaying three whole villages of the brutes. In the process, he had destroyed the momentum of the orcs and halted their advance. Gathering a small host of warriors, Tyrande led them into the darkness. It was time to hunt.

* * *

A group of orcs and trolls waited about the forest of Ashenvale. They stared suspiciously into the woods. The woods had been all silent since Cenarius had died, yet that did not ease their minds. For at every moment in that place one felt as though they were being watched. Judged. Yet it was their task to stand guard over the lumber mills, and they would do that.

Suddenly a maiden riding a white tiger leaped out into the moonlight. Behind her came many elven archers who opened fire. Several wolf riders fell in moments. As they urged their wolves forward they were shot full of arrows. At the same time, the trolls hurled their spears in vain. Yet they too were then peppered with arrows and left for dead.

With that done, the night elves descended upon the lumber camp in new wrath. They shot the orcs without mercy, even as they fled, they set fire to the war mill.

* * *

As the flames rose high into the night, Tyrande watched in grim satisfaction.

Yet she was not yet finished. These creatures were befouling her lands. She would not tolerate their hewing of trees. Leading her forces into the river, she waded through the chill water and headed north to a place where her scouts had detected their enemies. There they found a group of human loggers, seemingly unguarded.

Arrows flew, slaying many, as the humans fled for shelter in the building. Moving forward, Tyrande and her forces took several trees which had been hewed. They forced them up against the entrance, trapping the loggers within. She then set fire to the building. The smoke would doubtless suffocate the short-lived creatures. It would happen long before the flames would burn them if they were lucky.

For the moment, however, a force of smaller creatures came. They were riding great beasts of the sky with the bodies of lions and the heads of eagles descended. Hammers were cast down upon them, and a night elven archer near Tyrande had her skull caved in.

The archers raised their bows and fired great volleys. Their aim was true, as always, and the beasts were all shot from the sky, landing with a crash. Tyrande urged her tiger forward to where one of the riders was hauling himself away from the crash, a leg broken. He looked up in terror as she approached. "Please… don't kill me…"

Tyrande dismounted.

"Feast on this outlanders." aid Tyrande simply.

Ash'alah surged forward and mauled the creature beyond recognition. Then, tearing at the flesh the tiger feasted. When he had finished his meal, he returned to her, muzzle drenched in blood. and it nuzzled her. Tyrande scratched it behind the ears, before mounting it once more.

"Priestess Tyrande," said Shandris, "should we not return to the village? The humans and orcs may attack us there."

"Not yet," said Tyrande, "I sense that the greenskins are to the north of here, near a village of furbolgs. We shall see to them first."

They made their way north through the trees and came up the hill to see the orcs milling about. They had clapped many Furbolgs in chains, and covered in nets. The archers opened fire alongside Tyrande. Many of the orcs fell in moments. A few managed to get as far as Tyrande, but an arrow from her bow killed one of them. The other was mauled to death by Asha'lah alongside his mount.

Finally, they were all dead, and Tyrande approached the furbolgs. They were a peaceful race which had evolved under the tutelage of the night elves. They were under their protection. "Your village is safe," said Tyrande, "however I fear that in time you may come under assault again."

"You have our thanks, Priestess." their leader said. "Our chieftain bade us that should we see you; we should ask you to speak with him. He desires your aid."

"I will see what aid I may bring then." said Tyrande. "Farewell. Come Shandris, let us return to the village."

* * *

Duke Lionheart received the news as he oversaw the construction of the fort. A man rushed in, badly wounded and gasping for air. The Paladin healed him with an upraised hammer and approached him. "Easy man, what has happened."

"The elves…" he gasped, "the elves are demons! They killed all my friends; they slaughtered our orcish allies like animals! We… we've got to stop them."

"Get this man to safety." said Duke Lionhearted. "Then get together a force, we'll strike the elves back for this."

"Yes, sir."

Preparations for the assault began at once.

* * *

They made good time and returned to the area where the night elves had the strongest sway. As her forces made their way onward, Tyrande was pleased to see that a host of night elven archers. had Shandris' messengers had done their work well. Tyrande smiled in satisfaction. Then broke off to ride into the largest furbolg village in the region.

There she met the Chieftain, who greeted her kindly. "We are preparing to leave this place, Priestess. There is a terrible evil corrupting these lands, and I will not allow it to consume my people. Unfortunately, we cannot leave until the rest of our kind have been accounted for."

"Do not fear, old one." said Tyrande. "I will find your tribesmen and lead them back to you."

"Thank you, Priestess." said the furbolg. "We will reward you when you return."

Tyrande then rode back to the village and found it under attack by humans. The creatures wore heavy armor that their arrows had difficulty piercing. Fortunately, they were without order. The endless swaths of arrows felled many of them. The rest scattered and fled.

"Shandris," said Tyrande, "I require you to organize our defense in my absence. I must seek the furbolgs who reside within this forest, that they may escape these creatures."

"As you wish, Priestess." said Shandris.

Tyrande rode onwards, back the way she had come. She crossed the river and made her way north again, and came across the Furbolgs. "Your chieftain has ordered that your people will leave these lands." said Tyrande. "You should go to him at once."

The furbolgs nodded, and at once began to pack what possessions they had. Soon they began the long trek back. Tyrande did not stay to watch them go, instead sending an owl into the air to seek other Furbolgs.

Watching through the owl's eyes, Tyrande saw below a village of Furbolgs, just west of the river. Yet there was also a great many orcs nearby, felling trees and guarded by wyverns. On the wyverns were orcs with spears. They would have to deal with them.

Tyrande rode back, meaning to meet up with Shandris. Yet she found her way by a fountain of health which Tyrande had many times rested at. Shandris arose. "Priestess Tyrande, we were trying to cut the humans off at a choke point."

"There is another way the humans might take past this place." said Tyrande. "They already have a camp there. Nevertheless, it is well that you came here. I have need of your archers for another task. Follow me."

The night elves made their way through the waters. As they did so came within sight of the main orc and human encampment. The orcs rushed out to meet them, and arrows were fired at the creatures. "Withdraw!" cried Tyrande. "Pay them no heed!'

"We are to retreat?" asked Shandris.

"The time has not yet come for the death blow." said Tyrande, before riding onwards.

They scaled out of the shallowed and onto dry land where they came across the orc lumber operation. Firing their arrows, they killed all the orcish workers. Then they turned their attention to the wyvern riders. Their arrows were true, and within a few volleys, the night elves were victorious.

Finally, the war mill was put to the flame, as Tyrande rode by to speak to the furbolgs. Once she had seen that village safely on its way, she rode up to Shandris. "The time has come to return to the village for now. I doubt the humans will let the destruction of their orcish allies war mill go unpunished. We must be ready."

As they walked, however, Tyrande once again broke off. She remembered another furbolg village was. As she rode to it, she came across a human camp. Their watchman was sleeping, defenseless, and Tyrande drew a knife. It would be a simple matter to slay them.

Yet at the same time, no lumber had been felled here. And she would not have to pass through this area again to accomplish what was needed. Thus she rode past them and made her way to the furbolg village. Telling them of what needed to happen, she made her way back. As she slipped past, she noticed that the humans had awoken and noticed the furbolgs. Some unseen conversation passed between them. Then the humans allowed them to pass unmolested.

Tyrande rode the rest of the way, thinking. She scaled up the nearby mountain. From here she had watched the humans and orcs bickering before. As she did so, she found another village, which she warned of the impending exodus. Sending out a scout, she sought more furbolgs. She could find none.

Her attention was drawn away by the sounds of battle. Far below the orcs had launched an assault on the village. Several archers had been slain, yet in their place, the others shot their arrows. Many orcs fell in that first onslaught. Many more remained and as Tyrande rode back like the wind, she feared the guard might be overwhelmed.

It was not. As she came into view, she saw the last orc fall dead to the ground. Shandris came running with her archers shortly after that. Tyrande looked at her disapprovingly. "Shandris, I told you to guard the village."

"I… I am sorry Priestess." said Shandris. "I thought that with the fountain of health we might hold a defensive advantage. I did not listen."

"Warriors have paid the price for your recklessness.' said Tyrande "Do not disappoint me like this again." She then looked to the corpses of the orcs, lying dead at their feet. "Hack their heads off. Stick them on stakes outside of the village, and wrap their entrails around the stakes. Let us send a message to these creatures what happens when they contend with the night elves."

"As you wish, Priestess." said Shandris, bowing her head.

Tyrande began to roam across the wilds, looking for the last of the Furbolgs. She knew there was at least one more village near here, one small one. Yet it escaped her ancient memory where it was. It was during this time that she found herself drawn away, back to the village to aid in the defense. For the small creatures who had before rode the lion eagle things had returned. They wielding long sticks which made noises like thunder when used. Many archers died to their shots before they were pierced with many arrows. Many others were wounded.

It was within a little grove, within half a mile from the human and orcish encampment. When she found them, they were all too happy to leave their home. It seemed they had been planning to flee anyway. Thus they made their way back. Tyrande was satisfied that she had attended to her duties to the creatures of the forest. Now it was time for retribution.

Even though, she stopped by the Furbolg village, not so much out of the desire for a reward, as out of a desire to see them off. She had a vested interest in their race, after all. They were primitive, but not at all a bad sort.

"Many thanks, Priestess." said the Chieftain. "Now we can evacuate the region. Please accept the aid of our champion. He will protect your life as if it were his own."

A massive Furbolg warrior stepped forward. He loomed tall over her, even when she was on tigerback. He bowed and was still a head higher.

"Your offer is a generous one." said Tyrande, nodding her head. "May Elune light your path to safety."

With the Furbolg Champion came some other furbolg braves. Tyrande led them back. To her satisfaction, Shandris had erected the bloody example she had requested. The stakes dripped with blood. The archers assembled themselves before her, at the ready.

"We stand ready, Priestess." said Shandris.

"You have all done well." said Tyrande. "With the lumber operations destroyed, now it is the time that we restore peace to this forest once and for all. "We will wipe away the orcs and humans who plague it." She paused as she remembered the humans allowing the Furbolgs to pass. They had not made any attempt to enslave or slay them, unlike the orcs. That would have to be accounted for. "We will slay the Paladin who leads the humans and force them to retreat. If we find any women or children of the humans, we will allow them to leave unharmed."

"What of the orcs?" asked Shandris.

"Kill them all." said Tyrande with contempt. "Down to the last child. Their miserable race will pay a hundredfold for what they did to Cenarius. Onwards my warriors!"

The forces of the night elves marched out, their furbolg allies marching with them. They came to the river and marched south towards the enemy encampment. As they fell upon their enemies, Tyrande called out aloud. "Bandu thoribas, mortals! You will pay for defiling these lands!"

Then battle was joined. A force of orcs was bowed down by endless archers, but more came behind it. Orc and human joined together to assault as one and charged the archers. Yet the furbolgs barred their path and fought tooth and nail against them. Arrows blotted out the sun. Yet the humans locked their shields together and soon got into melee. Blood ran in rivers on both sides, though the enemy had by far the worst of it.

Then the Paladin arrived, and raising his hammer there was a flash of light. Many dead and wounded enemies suddenly arose in new life. Battle once again raged. Nearly a third of the furbolgs had been killed. The archers still numbered many but had suffered casualties. The enemy were mustering their other forces. If victory was not achieved soon, their casualties would be far greater.

"The Paladin!" cried Tyrande. "Turn your arrows to the Paladin! Slay him, and we will have had victory!"

The archers obeyed and launched their arrows in great volley. A shield of golden light protected him, knocking the arrows away. The battle continued. Yet the shield faded, and many black-feathered arrows shot into him. The Paladin strained to stand, before collapsing to the ground, dead.

The combat continued anyway. Tyrande knew she must withdraw.

Then everything stopped as a presence made itself known. Throughout the highlands, woodland creatures fled to hide. Stags rushed away, mad with fright. A terrible, low laugh echoed throughout the woodlands. The waters ran still. The wind ceased to blow. All combat ceased as the factions halted, looking around for the source.

Fire rained from the sky down upon the buildings of the humans. It scorched them to dust in moments as screamed echoed. Blue light appeared, as demons appeared led by a Dreadlord clad all in red.

Then came the smell of rotting corpses. Countless creatures lumbered into sight, supported by demons.

'It's the undead!' cried an orc. 'Defend yourselves!'

'They must have followed us from Lordaeron!' said a human.

The two sides turned away from the elves and rushed to battle. Terrible combat waged, and for a few moments the orcs and humans held the demons back. Then they were overwhelmed and slain the man. Cries of fear and terror were everywhere. A child screamed in the night.

From where they stood, sheltered by their enemies, Tyrande watched in shock and horror. An archer stepped forward. 'Elune save us! The dead advance in waves!'

'Quickly my sisters,' said Tyrande, 'back to the trees! We are no match for a force this vast!'

She only prayed she could defeat this new enemy as well as the orcs and humans.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

So much for mercy, I guess.

For those who are just joining us, welcome to the Mercyverse. It is an alternate universe — one where the protagonists of Warcraft III avoid destroying good aligned bases. Then we see how this titular mercy plays out. We've already had three installments so far, two of which are already complete. If you're interested checkout Mercy of the Damned, Colonization of Kalimdor, and Wrath of the Light.

Part of the problem with this mission is that to the night elves; trees are people too. So the active lumber harvesting is something that has to be stopped. This convinced me that I could not actually align Tyrande's actions with that of a mercy run — especially given the actions of the night elves in Colonization of Kalimdor.

The night elf campaign outright requires you to destroy good bases, and spare bad ones at least until Illidan shows up. At which point he does massive damage to the Legion in one mission. More than everyone else in the campaign has done put together.

As soon as I started writing Tyrande, I realized that there was no way I was going to be able to make her at all sympathetic. So I made her an arrogant psychotic then ran with it.

I wanted to make the night elves into something other than the Ms. Fanservice of Azeroth. I wanted to make them legitimately badass, and dare I say it, terrifying. So I decided to portray them as honest to god barbarians. People who do things like put heads on stakes and wrap the defeated's entrails around it.


	2. Daughters of the Moon

**Chapter Two: Daughters of the Moon**

Three hours later, somewhere in the foothills of Mount Hyjal, Tyrande Whisperwind fled. She and her archers were fast pursued by demons and undead who marched without tiring after them. The night elves had dispersed to lead some of their enemies away. Yet no matter how far Tyrande and her archers fled the undead marched onward after them. Crossing a river, they saw comets fall from the sky and arise as infernals. Heading under an ancient arch of stone, they rushed up a hill and found themselves trapped.

"The undead are tireless," said an archer in despair, "there is no way to outrun them."

The last time the legion had attacked, the night elves had waged a brutal guerrilla war against them. They had never stayed to fight. They had outrun their enemies and striking where they were exposed. Last time the legions casualties had been enormous. Yet the undead that mustered now beneath them did not tire.

Tyrande looked for a way out and knew that she was surrounded. They took defensive positions, as a force of doomguards came into view. They advanced beyond the scourge to hem them in, calling words of mockery in their fel tongue. Then they fel silent as two powers entered the area.

A familiar voice spoke: "You see, Lord Archimonde." said a Dreadlord she had glimpsed from afar many years ago. "We need not fear the night elves, the scourge can-"

Then she saw him. Tyrande's blood turned to ice, her arms shook as she watched the blue-skinned demon ascend the heights. She knew that demon, and she would never forget his name or terrifying visage. "Archimonde…" she tried to keep the despair from her tone. "After ten thousand years, how is it possible?"

Archimonde laughed scornfully. "The Legion has returned to consume this world, woman. And this time, your troublesome race will not stop us."

The Doomguards advanced, their swords ready. The archers fired their arrows in vain, before being carved down with vicious strokes. Tyrande was defenseless, she had no way out. In mere moments she would be slain and sent to join her subjects. And yet the moonlight shone brightly down upon her, and the demons stopped. They simply looked right through her, as though they couldn't see her at all.

"Fools!" snarled Archimonde. "You let her slip away!" He raised one hand, and half of his doomguards screamed as their eyes were consumed in flame. Blood poured from their mouths. Soon the beasts fell dead.

"Find her, damn you!" snarled Archimonde, oblivious. "Find her and kill her!"

Then they dispersed. Tyrande looked upon the bodies of her fallen archers and thanked Elune for her salvation. "The day we have long feared has finally come. The Burning Legion has returned! I must cross the river and warn the rest of my sisters before all is lost!" Then dismounting from her panther, she closed the eyes of her guards. "May Elune guide your spirits to true peace. Farewell."

Nothing less than a miracle had saved her. Yet she was now alone, and without allies in a wood now infested with demons and undead. She would need all her skills to escape this place alive, and she prayed that it would be enough. Then she headed back along the path she had fled along with her comrades, and under the ancient arch.

The moonlight stared down at her as she went north, past a broken pillar. However, she had only just reached the river when she spotted a massive doom guard marching a patrol. Tyrande reigned in her tiger and sped through the trees to hide until he was gone. Then, peering through the forests, she saw three doomguards standing around a fire.

The figure she saw she remembered well, for he was their Chief. Lord Kazzak stood taller than the rest of the doomguards and far stronger. "These damned night elves cannot escape us!" proclaimed Kazzak. "Lord Archimond wants them found! Spread out, and seek them!"

Tyrande slipped away into the woods. She would need to be very careful.

Waiting for the doom guards to pass, Tyrande slipped over the river without a sound. She made her way onwards until she found two more doomguards waiting around. 'I must avoid being seen.' she said to herself.

The doom guards broke apart and made their way onwards.

As she moved to slip past, however, the doomguards let out a cry and were after her in a flash. Tyrande fled south and through the water. The doomguards soon gave up the chase, and Tyrande reached the far short. Yet it was not long before she came upon yet another force of doomguards. Swiftly fading into the trees, she waited for him to pass.

"Lord Archimond commanded us to corrupt this forest!" proclaimed Kazzak's voice. "And we shall!"

Tyrande slipped away west. Yet even as she did so, the ground beneath her feet became black with unholy magics. The plants wilted, and the spirits of the trees cried out in unholy rage. As she made her way down a hill, she saw all that had once been green and wonderful in this place become a twisted mockery.

She vowed she would make the Legion pay for this, and continued on. Soon she came to a cage, where a furbolg languished.

"Priestess…" it said, "please free me."

Though her task was urgent, Tyrande stepped down from her tiger and withdrew a knife. Using it she cut the ropes holding the cage up, and it crashed to the ground to shatter. The furbolg emerged, unhurt.

"Can you stand?" asked Tyrande. "You must get out of here."

"Thank you, Priestess," said the furbolg. "I will not forget your kindness." And he rushed off.

At that moment a net was cast over Tyrande and she fell to land with a crash on the ground. Ash'alah roared and leaped forward, only to be caught in another net. Tyrande struggled against it, drawing a knife to saw herself free.

"Puny nightelf!" cried doomguard as he raised his sword. "You cannot hide from us!"

At that moment the furbolg returned with a roar, savaging the doomguard and driving him back. Tyrande cut herself and her mount free and drew her bow, firing several arrows. Yet it was obvious that it would not be long before the furbolg was overwhelmed.

"Priestess! Save yourself!" cried the furbolg.

Though she wanted to stay, she knew she could do nothing mounted her tiger and fled east bitterly. The furbolg whose name she did not know died behind her. Heading north along a path, she came to an area which had not yet been corrupted. A great fallen log was prominent, as the creatures of the night made their calls. As she rounded a corner, however, she saw a squad of doomguards heading towards her the forest. She at once took cover and waited for them to turn away. Then she stole after their burning footprints carefully.

As they went one way, she broke off and was nearly killed as another group of doomguards came into view. Hiding among the trees, she watched as the corruption overtook her surroundings. Just as it had before. It took all her strength not to weep at the horrors being inflicted on the land. Finally, the doomguards passed on, and Tyrande followed in their wake to cross the bridge. No guards had been left to stop her, and she hoped things would get easier from here.

As she pressed onwards, she came to a human encampment. There she found many of her sentries doing battle with the humans. The humans were outnumbered. It wasn't long before they overwhelmed and defeated the few remaining warriors.

As Tyrande approached, they turned to her. "Elune-adore, Priestess. We are yours to command."

"Well met my sisters," said Tyrande, "we must warn our people of the danger before it is too late. However, first, we will avenge some of our losses upon the Legion. Follow me."

Heading north back over the bridge, they fell upon the doomguards and rained arrows upon them. They slew them as they lumbered about. The doomguards sought to reach them, but the night elves would slip into the woods. Then they would ambush them from elsewhere. Before long many lay dead.

In this way, they killed three whole squads of doom guards. Yet as they pressed further back into their steps, Tyrande realized that this would do no good. Daylight would be coming on soon. If they ran into more dangers, it might be far more difficult to achieve their goal. The land here was already scarred, and it was not without her power to restore it.

"Priestess," said an archer, "we've found something you should see."

Tyrande followed the archer and found many doom guard corpses. Each of them had been beheaded, and they were hewn with marks similar to that of the humans.

"I sense… unholy magic. Yet also… light." said Tyrande.

"Is it possible that the legion has enemies among its own number?" asked an archer.

"I don't know," said Tyrande, "yet whoever did this they are no friend of ours. Let us cross the bridge and reach our sisters. Vengeance is satisfied."

The journey back to the humans camp was uneventful. After they reached the camp, they headed north over a ford in the river. There they saw a pitched battle raging between the undead and the humans. As the battle raged, Tyrande raised a hand to prevent her archers from firing.

"Clearing the humans have no love for the undead," she said, "yet I dare not trust them."

They passed by the fray without taking a side, then Tyrande halted. "Turn about and fire a few volleys into the undead from behind. Then we will disengage."

"As you wish Priestess."

The volleys slew many of the undead, and the humans overwhelmed them. As Tyrande brought her warriors south, however, she came across an even larger battle. It was being fought between the orcs and the undead. An orcish village stood nearby. Tyrande sensed something in the air as the combat raged.

"Those orcs appear to be fighting the undead as well." said Tyrande. "Let us ensure that neither side survives the day."

Waiting as the combat raged, Tyrande waited until the orcs began to get the upper hand. At that moment she surged forward with her archers. They launched volley after volley into their midst. The arrows pierced many of them, and the undead rallied. Yet despite this assistance, the orcs overwhelmed the undead. They then rushed at the archers. Many fell before they could reach Tyrande's forces, yet some survived and slew many of the archers.

By the time the battle was over, all of the orcs lay dead, and all of the undead had joined them. However many night elves had fallen. Tyrande breathed in fury, and then directed her night elves to make a suitable example of the orcs. The undead they piled into a great mound and burned, but the orcs the night elves held no such mercy. They hacked off the orcs limbs and impaled their bodies on stakes. They carved out their eyes ears, and tongues and castrated them. Then they set fire to them.

They did this in full village so that everyone who watched trembled.

"What now Priestess?" asked the archer. "Do we attack?"

"I would love nothing more than to put this village of beasts to the flame." stated Tyrande. "But we have taken many casualties, and their defenses are formidable. We will return when the time is right. There is a waygate near here, which we may be transported to a place of healing. Let us find it."

It took only a little while to find the waygate. Tyrande and her archers filed through before entering a beautiful grove. At the center was a sparkling fountain of blue water. This place, at least, had not been corrupted. They drank of the waters and were healed. Then they pressed on into the darkness.

Then a creature was unveiled before their eyes. It was a ghost which was watching them. Suddenly a glaive flew out of the shadows and cleaved it in two. Into sight came a group of huntresses riding black panthers and wielding glaives.

"Elune-adore, Priestess. Be wary. The doom guards command shades that can see us, even when we meld with the shadows." said a huntress. "We'd best stay away from them."

"No," said Tyrande, "the time for hiding has passed. We will kill the doomguards and their shades."

Finding the doomguards wasn't difficult. Unfortunately this time they did not have surprise. The monsters knew they had been coming and were surrounded by many unholy statues. These pulsed with energies.

A war cry sounded from the doomguards as they rushed at them.

"Silly night elves, you cannot hide from us!" proclaimed the doom guard, cleaving through a huntress with one stroke.

Tyrane put an arrow in his eye. "I need not hide."

More doomgaurds came from around as the battle intensified. A huntress scaled up a doomguards arm and drove a knife into his jugular. An archer peppered one with arrows, only to be run through.

Then the statues came to life and flew into the air. They hurled unholy energies down on them. Several archers were killed.

"Archers," cried Tyrande, "shoot down those statues." She fired several shots and each one killed a archers followed her lead and pierced them from the sky.

The battle went back and forth, and Tyrande slew many demons with her arrows. Yet she also realized she was out of practice. A thousand years ago this would have been a simple matter to win. Yet at last victory was theirs and the shade was killed. The doom guards were all beheaded, and their corpses were hacked to pieces and left for the birds to feast on.

They then pressed onwards up a hill and found a group of human warriors. The humans did not want to fight. 'Ambush!' cried their leader. 'Run for your lives! We'll regroup in the clearing ahead!'

Pursuing after the humans, Tyrande saw them run straight into a squad of doom guards. Tyrande and her forces launched many arrows into the doomguards. The humans fought them head on. After a long combat, the doomguards were all dead, and the night elves retreated into the woods.

A few humans, overconfident from victory followed after them. Tyrande motioned to her sisters and they quickly faded into the woods. As the overconfident pink skins came into sight, they unleashed a volley of arrows. Many were killed at once. The rest turned and fled.

"Let the rest go." said Tyrande. "We must reach the river before the dawn breaks. We will not be able to hide in the night." Already she could see the light beginning to creep over the top of the hills.

As they pressed north, they came to a great gate, and here Tyrande knocked thrice.

'Fandu-dath-belore?' came the question.

'Ishnu-alah, sisters!' said Tyrande. 'It is I, Tyrande.'

The doors were opened and they were joined by many more warriors.

Taking their forces, they headed east. Here they halted. For they saw great ziggurat upon which a dark crystal cast bolts of unholy energy on them. They smashed the crystal and pressed on south. Yet as they marched the sun rose high above them.

"The dawn has come," said Tyrande, "I can no longer rely on Elune's power to keep me hidden."

They headed east and came across a great many ballista crews. Taking them, Tyrande found many defenses ahead. She set them to work demolishing the spirit towers. Three spirits towers fell over the course of the morning, and then the undead were upon them. A vast host of them surged forward, and the night elves met them in battle.

There were casualties on both sides. Yet in the end, the night elves were driven back, and forced to withdraw and lick their wounds. Tyrande brought her forces to the place where she had seen the first spirit tower and headed south. There she and her forces slew a great contingent of doomguards. They then destroyed another spirit tower.

Victory after victory blurred together. Tyrande had not fought this many battles in one day since the war of the ancients. There was no mistaking it. They would need to summon the Druids.

Heading north, they found a great many of their sisters ready for battle. With them were many more ballistas. Rallying them, Tyrande led her forces south again for another assault.

The undead had been exhausted in the last battle. Now it was a simple matter of decimating their defenses little by little. Finally, the last spirit tower fell, and the night elves charged in. They slaughtered the acolytes to the last man and burned their crypts and graveyards.

With that done, the army marched south through the gate and met up with their comrades.

They found the village damaged. The great trees had been scratched by claws and were regrowing. Many wounded were being treated. Shandris was there, and still alive, than Elune.

The Sentinel rushed up to Tyrande. "Tyrande, praise Elune you've made it! The undead appeared out of nowhere and attacked our village without warning!"

"Ishnu-dal-diel Shandris." said Tyrande. "We have a greater problem. The undead were sent here by the Burning Legion, our ancient enemies of old. Against such might, we have only one option. We must awaken the Druids."

With the Burning Legions advance halted, for now, Tyrande and Shandris set out to awaken the Druids of Old. They took with them a large part of their forces.

Yet would it be enough?

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

Well, here we have the second chapter in Rage of the Eternal. I have to admit I have hitherto underestimated the Night Elf faction. I remember hating this campaign because I couldn't figure out how to work with their units. This time I seem to have a better handle on it, so it may turn out , more than half the human units survived.


	3. The Awakening of Stormrage

**Chapter Three: The Awakening of Stormrage**

* * *

The corruption of Felwood had come at a high cost. The sentinels had returned under Tyrande Whisperwind and killed many of the doomguards. The casualties had been high, even if the mission had technically been a success. Now Lord Kazzak came to bear witness to the last rites of his fallen warriors.

The Legions goals were, of course, ultimately omnicidal. Yet that had not stopped funeral rites from having survived among its member races. It was Kazzaki's duty to examine the bodies of his warriors. Partially out of respect, but there was some further use that could be made of them.

Lord Kazzak looked at the bodies of his fallen comrades with a mournful fury. The massive doomguard did not care for the deaths of failures. But these warriors had succeeded. That they had died anyway only added to his rage. He walked onward and came to some bodies were unlike those slain by the night elves.

"So these are the ones you spoke of?" said Tichondrius, who had a spare moment.

"Yes," said Kazzak, "these were slain by a sword, not by arrows. The night elves do not use such weapons, they are cowardly and hide in the dark. Whoever did this faced my men in open battle. Yet it could not have been a large force, to go unnoticed by us."

Tichondrius kneeled down and examined the wounds. Setting one clawed hand over them as he sensed the energies. "You are correct." The Dreadlord said with a scowl of frustration. "It was not a large force that did this. This is the work of one man, Arthas Menethil."

"Your death knight?" inquired Kazzak. "The one who killed Mannoroth."

Tichondrius stiffened. "Have a care Kazzak, he is not my death knight." said Tichondrius. "He was the Lich Kings. The failure was Ner'zhul's, not mine."

"You were quick to take the credit when he summoned Archimonde into the world." noted Kazzak. "If the scourge hadn't been spurned this might not be a problem in the first place."

"You forget yourself, doomguard." said Tichondrius in a low tone. Something in the air changed, and Kazzak took a step back, afraid. Tichondrius was ages older than Kazzak, and unquestionably had greater power. A shadow seemed to fall over Kazzak, though Tichondrius had not moved. Finally, the shadow waned, and he returned to his normal form. "It is enough to know whom the bodies were made by. Find the death knight and kill him."

"Of course, Lord Tichondrius." said Kazzak, falling to one knee. "It shall be done."

"I have business elsewhere." said Tichondrius. "Lord Archimonde wishes the satyr's brought back into the fold."

Even as he disappeared a group of doomguards arrived, dragging still more corpses. Kazzak made his way over to them and saw that these too had been hewn by the same sword. "The human will pay for this." he said, before drawing his sword and raising it aloft. "Spread out! March in pairs! If one of you falls, call the rest of us, and we will converge on your location!

"Find the death knight! Find him and kill him!"

* * *

From where he was hiding just behind their sight, Arthas smiled and faded into the shadows.

* * *

A group of orcs and humans stalked through the trees side by side. They gave each other wary and suspicious glances every so often. Captain Lorena was not at all enthusiastic about the decision to work alongside the orcs. But she was certain Lady Proudmoore knew best. Her doubts were shared by the orc war leader, Gorash. He seemed to view her and her kind with scarcely concealed contempt.

"Tell your people to keep up!" snapped Gorash. "We don't have time to coddle your race of weaklings!"

"If not for our alliance," said Lorena, "I would run you through for your words."

"And if not for Warchief Thrall's orders, your race would no longer exist." snarled Gorash. "Not shut up, I've had enough of your jabbering!"

Lorena would have replied, but suddenly they came into plain view of a pack of doomguards. At once she drew her sword, while the orc unslung his axe. Their grievances forgotten, the orcs and humans charged forward to meet them.

"For the Alliance!" cried Lorena.

"For the Horde!" cried Gorash.

Shields were hewn, skulls were caved, and limbs cut off as the two sides tore each other apart. An orc warrior fell to the ground, mortally wounded by a jab to the chest. Yet a priest kneeled by him and restored his strength. Rising up, the orc charged into battle with a war cry, hacking down a doom guard in battle. Despite herself, Lorena reflected that the orcs and humans made a pretty good team. This reflection nearly cost her her life as a doomguard brought down a sword with a two-handed strike.

Lorena caught it on her shield, which cracked as she staggered backward to land, stunned. Felhounds rushed forward and bowled over a human, tearing him apart. One of their head was removed by an orc warrior. A footman ducked under a strike by a doomguard and ran him through the stomach. He stepped away as the demon bellowed in pain.

Lorena watched a doomguard cleave an orc in two. Then a footman, before turning to her, walking forward with a leering smile to finish her. Rising despite the pain and injury, Lorena rushed forward towards the doomguard. She yelled a battle cry as she drew near. A blade came down to cut her in half, but she rolled forward under it and jabbed her sword into the doomguards foot. The creature roared and fell to one knee, driving its sword to impale her. Yet she sprang aside and slashed its tendon.

The sword fell from its grip as it clutched its hand, and Lorena slashed its throat. As blood poured from the wound, it fell back to land with a crash, and Lorena stepped forward to where it was gurgling. Raising her sword, she fell to one knee and struck its neck. Her sword cleaved through muscle and bone to behead the creature.

Around her, the fray was settling down. Blood and bodies were everywhere, and the doomguards had fought well. For everyone they had killed, the alliance and horde had lost two at least. Probably more, and men were resting in exhaustion from the battle. Even so, the enemy was defeated. The doomguards had died to the last man, never retreating, never surrendering. Lorena could not help but respect them for it. Even orcs sometimes retreated.

"Back up you men," said Lorena, "priests attend to the wounded, orc and human alike. Everyone else keep an eye out, there may yet be more about."

She approached Gorash, who stood over the body of a felhound, axe bloodied. "We've done well here." she tried, wiping her blade on the grass. "We should return to camp and bury our dead before our luck fails us." She was a short haired, lanky women clad in white mail. Her shield was cracked from a doomguards sword.

"You can go back if you want human," said Gorash, "we go on."

"That's not smart," said Lorena, "the enemy are sure to miss this patrol, and we are far afield as it is. We're supposed to be cooperating."

"Than fall in line with us, or return to cower with the rest of your kind." snarled the orc. "We go on!"

When all that could be saved were healed, and the dead had been buried, the groups broke apart. They made their way in opposite directions. Many of the orcs looked quite reluctant to go on, but they had their commands. Lorena had no intention of fighting two battles in one day. Their priority was to keep their forces intact which whittling away at the enemies.

The humans returned to camp and were welcomed back as heroes. They told tales of their adventures and reporting on what had transpired. Finally, they were congratulated by Lady Jaina.

* * *

The orcs, on the other hand, found more battle still. After a brutal skirmish with the doomguards, they were routed. They escaped with half their original number, limping back toward home.

They never made it, a group of Night Elven Sentinels ambushed the war party. They killed most of them and tortured the rest to death. They hung their bodies from trees with their eyes ears and tongues removed. Later scouts would find their bodies being pecked at by birds of prey.

At the least, their bodies were mostly intact and were buried in one piece.

* * *

The next day, near the outskirts of the sacred Moonglade, Tyrande stood by Shandris. They were looking out across the wild lands as their forces mustered for battle. Finally, Tyrande spoke: "With Cenarius dead, it falls to us to awaken the druids. We must recover the demigods horn from the sacred Moonglade Isle. Only its clarion call can awaken the druids from their slumber."

"But Priestess," said Shandris, "the orcs have established a crude settlement upon the isle. We'll need to fight our way through them to reach Cenarius' horn!" At that moment a force of night elves came riding to meet them from the forest. They looked very grim as they neared them. Tyrande recognized her, for she had taught her when she was only a girl. And also her mother as well. "Priestess Tyrande, thank Elune we found you. The undead are advancing upon the nearby Barrow-Downs. The downs seem abandoned but…"

"There is one druid sleeping within them, sister." said Tyrande gravely. "Furion Stormrage, he is the wisest and most powerful of all the druids. He must be warned that the Legion has returned!"

"Then we'd better hurry," said the Sentinel, "if the undead overtake his Den before he's awakened…"

'Let us make haste, my sisters!" said Tyrande. "All our hopes rest on Furion's awakening!"

Tyrande at once took her forces and scouted to the easy of her position. As they rode onwards, they came upon a hill of green haired maidens, without clothes and with the bodies of stags. In their hands were poisoned spears, and the approached.

"What is nature's call?" asked their leader. 'We are yours to command, Priestess."

"Join us, fair dryads." said Tyrande. "We have much work to do."

Scouting north, Tyrande and her forces waded into a dark and cold river. The light shot through the trees in pale beams. It gave a ghostly look they waded further, they came across a great host of murlocs milling about.

Turning back, Tyrande led her forces back to the shore. She went further east, before trying another ford, and onto the far side of the Moonglade Isle. Almost at once they encountered a force of wolf riders. They charged forward with blades raised and beasts snarling.

"Strike fast!" They cried. "Ensnare them all before they regroup!"

Spears and arrows were cast into the fray, felling many of the wolf riders before they could reach melee. Then the dryads met them in battle, spears against swords. Arrows flew, as knives were used to cut throats, and warblades cleaved through flesh.

Finally, all the orcs lay dead. And just ahead Tyrande saw the orcish village. They were prepping for war, readying their weapons. They had a defensive tower, from which many archers stood posted. Many of the smaller orcs huddled in their burrows, while warriors prepared for battle.

"Come Priestess," said Shandris, 'let us assault, and deal with these wretches as they deserve."

At that moment a force of orcs rushed out to meet them head-on, bellowing calls of war with axes hewing. "Lok'tar Ogar! For Warchief Thrall!"

The night elves launched many arrows and spears at them. They slew them long before they reached their lines. After that, the orcs thought twice about sallying forth.

"Now my sisters!" cried Tyrande. "Attack! Destroy! Slaughter them all! Wipe these unclean beasts from the woodlands!"

The night elves rushed forward in an onslaught and tore down the tower. Their archers shooting the peons dead with superior skill. As the orcish warriors charged forward the night elves disappeared into the woods. The orcs pursued. Soon they were separated and ambushed. One by one the orcs fell, and only a very few night elves died in battle. The remnants of the orcs fled back, pursued by the fresh night elves who saw their chance for victory.

Troll witch doctors set out wards which healed the wounds of the remaining warriors. With their help were able to hold back the tide for a time. Yet it was not long before the night elves realized what was happening and destroyed the runes. Once they fell, the defense was slain at last.

Yet the battle was not yet over. The peons who cowered within their burrows now took action. They began to cast spears at the night elves from hiding. Many sentinels fell before the surprised elves could respond and begin to respond.

The night elves threw flaming brand through the windows and shot arrows through. The sentinels destroyed the fortifications one by one.

Yet at that moment a massive orc wielding a katana rushed into view. Fighting as a blur, he and the few warriors who had returned with him slew many night elves. And with the shafts cast from the burrows, it became clear that they were losing badly.

"Retreat!" called Tyrande. "Retreat!"

Once again they fell back into the forest, pursued by the orcs. Once again they slaughtered them all, yet not without cost. The orc blademaster fell dead with many arrows sticking from him, and blood coating his sword. Full half the sentinel's number had fallen in battle on that day. Even so, reinforcements were on their way.

"Shandris, prepare to attack again!" said Tyrande. "There will be no one to stop us this time! Kill them all, no mercy upon the slayers of Cenarius!"

"No mercy!" cried the night elves.

It was not as easy as they had expected. The orcs soon received reinforcements from elsewhere. As the day wore on there were many assaults and retreats. The orcs died in greater and greater numbers. The dryads and sentinels soon came to bolster Tyrande's forces. On the battle waged, and three of the structures were put to the sword.

Yet still more reinforcements came streaming in to meet them.

"These… elves are stronger than we thought!" cried an orc as he and his warriors rushed to meet them.

Finally, as night began to fall, the whole of the village was in flames. The warriors were all slain, the peons were rounded up, their homes obliterated. The night elves cast the orcish children against the rocks of the rivers. They split their skulls that they might never grow up avenge their fathers. They beheaded the peons, and the few surviving warriors were hung from trees.

Tyrande Whisperwind, satisfied with her work here, pressed onward. She left behind her the corpses of hundreds, innocent and guilty alike. They had been slaughtered without mercy or pity.

The had deserved it. They all had.

Making their way over the river, Tyrande led her forces, now even greater than before to the far side. No sooner had they set foot upon the land and a great wildkin rushed out of the trees. They were led by a specter appearing like Cenarius. Yet it was writhed in flames as it cast fire upon them.

"What is the meaning of this?" asked Shandris. "|Why would these spirits attack us?"

"Cenarius alone was permitted to walk these paths." said Tyrande. "-"Cenarius alone was meant to be able to awaken the Druids. He alone was above fault. The guardians of this place will try to thwart our efforts at every turn." She remembered suddenly Furion's faith in Cenarius, that had led him, and her, down the path they had walked.

"The night elves pressed on, higher and higher. Soon they found themselves walking an ancient paved road, overgrown with moss. There was an air of magic about them so that no one knew quite what to think. They were on the forbidden ground, yet if the world was to be saved, they had to press on further.

"Up the winding path they went, until at last, they came to another specter, this one breathing a frosty air of death. Out of a nearby cave came countless Owlbears.

"Feel natures wrath!" cried the specter and battle was joined.

The owlbears here were bigger and more powerful than those that had come before. There were casualties before victory was achieved. Tyrande sliced one across the hamstring with her knife, before finishing it with a jab to the eye. Shandris shot another through the throat.

The spirit fell last of all and melted like ice beneath the suns rays.

Finally, they pressed onto the horn, floating upon a pedestal, waiting for use. The pedestal stood surrounded by many pillars which towered above them. This place was very ancient indeed, made in the days of Surumar.

A spectre of lightning appeared and sent bolts of power coursing through the front ranks. Screams echoed as they died, and gigantic owlbears rushed out of the caves with wrath. The battle was long and difficult. No matter how many arrows and spears they cast into the owlbears, they would not die. They carved a swath through the night elves who could not avoid them. They died one by one, until at last only the lightning spirit remained. Tyrande notched an arrow, but a bolt of lightning shot through her, sending her reeling to the ground in pain. Then everything went black.

Tyrande awoke woozily to find Shandris standing over her fearfully. "Priestess Tyrande, thank goodness you are alive! We feared the worst!"

"I'm fine, Shandris." said Tyrande, pulling herself up. "Have we the horn?"

"Yes," said Shandris, "we slew the creature shortly after you fell. We lost more of our kind against those spirits than against the orcs."

"Whatever the cost, it was not in vain." said Tyrande as she approached the horn. "At last, the Horn of Cenarius! Now we can awaken Furion!" Taking up the horn, she set it to her lips and blew upon it with all her might.

The sound of the Horn of Cenarius echoed across Ashenvale. Demons looked up, an ancient fear welling up in their hearts. Wielders of unholy magic heard the wood groaning, as the roots deep within the land began to move. The trees swayed. The earth came alive, as the rivers ran silent. The ghouls working to hack down the trees now renewed their efforts with vicious abandon. They desperately sought to reach the Barrow-Downs before it was too late.

Malfurion Stormrage opened his eyes and emerged from the barrow downs. He was a giant of an elf, with broad shoulders and a long blue beard. On his head were antlers, and in one hand he gripped a gnarled staff. He went clad in black furs, with a garment made of feathers, and he sensed the taint within the land.

"The horn has sounded," said Malfurion, "and I have come as promised. I smell the stench of decay and corruption in our land. That angers me greatly." He motioned with one hand, and suddenly the forest that ghouls had been hewing came to life! "Come forth, you defenders of old! Crush these invaders as you did in ages past!"

The trees tore apart the ghouls. Then they pressed on to assault the graveyards where they had been storing lumber. The undead mustered and rushed to meet the trees, but were swept away by the woodlands might.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Well here it is, chapter three.

I tried to give the human and orc alliance a day in the limelight, to show that they are still winning victories. Lorena is, of course, a cameo from the terrible novel Cycle of Hatred.

By the way, the book was absolutely awful. Nothing that happens in the story has the least bit of significance in the grand scheme of things. The ending is completely anticlimactic — a lot of boring buildup for almost no payoff. Jaina Proudmoore and Thrall had almost no personality whatsoever. And the less said about the villain the better. Even so, it had a few decent characters, and I thought Lorena was halfway interesting.

After two campaigns of playing pacifist mode, it is refreshing to play a vicious monster. I actually like psychotic Tyrande a bit better than I do canon Tyrande at this point. Oh wait, she is canon Tyrande before WoW turned her into Malfurion's trophy wife.


	4. The Druids Arise

**Chapter Four: The Druids Arise**

Kazzak and his doomguards stalked through the trees, seeking their enemies. As they marched, their feet crushed logs, and spilled unholy energy into the ground. It was their great pleasure to hack, and beat down underbrush and vines which got in their way. They left a satisfying trail of broken boughs around them. Just recently they had caught a patrol of night elf sentinels. Tired from a battle with orcs,. the night elves were easy prey, and most of them had been cut down.

The doomguards had taken their time with the survivors. They had used the prisoners for their own pleasure. Kazzak remembered fondly how their leader had screamed and moaned in agony. He'd had great sport having his way with her. Snapping her neck in the afterglow to bring an end to her suffering had just been a bonus. Only a few had slipped beyond their grasp, fleeing from the doomguards. Even now they were now fanning out throughout the trees in ranks.

"Keep your eyes open, warriors!" called Kazzak to his warriors. "Don't let the night dull your senses! The elves have a village somewhere around here, and we will destroy it!"

Then all of a sudden Kazzak caught sight of glinting mail in the sunlight, and there was a shout from above. "For Lordaeron! For Lady Jaina!"

"For the Horde!" came an answering call. "For Warchief Thrall!"

Kazzak smiled as he saw humans and orcs rushing over the hill towards him. Roaring a war cry he charged forward. He summoned a storm of fire with one hand that burned a segment of the enemy force alive. His minions sent forth their crippling magic, weakening their enemies minds and limbs. Then battle was joined.

Kazzak tore through three orcs and two humans with one swing of his blade! A doomguard crushed a troll underfoot as the creature tried to get some distance. Another hacked a tauren's head from his shoulders. A tauren broke a doomguards arm with his totem before the warrior was dragged down and cut to pieces by the orcs. A human stabbed a doom guard in the foot, sending him falling to the ground. Yet as the enemy closed around him, Kazzak stepped forward and hewed them down with mighty swings.

'Anetheron!' he cried. 'Now is the time!'

Anetheron's undead made their entrance, charging out of the corrupted woodlands. As the battle raged on, Kazzak offered a hand to his warrior, the doomguard took it, and they arose.

'On your feet warrior, there is plenty for all!' laughed Kazzak, for the joy of battle, was now upon him.

All around him he could see the gruesome spectacle. Hellhounds bounded through the trees to tear throats. Priests desperately tried to heal the wounded, only to be hacked down in turn. Sorceresses slowed one enemy, only to be overrun by swarms of ghouls. Gryphon riders soared across the skies, hurling their hammers to strike down abominations. Yet they were brought down by the webs of crypt fiends, and hacked apart by the giants of sewn flesh. Skeletons rose from the corpses of those who had fallen, swelling the ranks of the army.

As the tides of war turned against them, the humans and orcs formed a tight knot. They fought against enemies on all sides. Shamans filled the warrior's veins with bloodlust, so that they seemed to grow in size. Their strength was doubled. Balls of lightning surrounded a doomguard, forcing his comrades to scatter. The humans and orcs left behind them a trail of bodies as they fought to escape the encompassing net.

Kazzak raised one hand and unleashed the rain of fire upon the remaining forces. A vast pillar of flame filled the woodlands. Cries of dismay and fear echoed as flames rose high to hide their enemies from sight. In the process the front ranks of the undead were consumed, but they were of little concern. Then the flames dissipated to reveal a blue shield of magic. The warriors clustered within. A beautiful golden-haired sorceress was standing amidst the soldiers. As the shield faded the undead and doomguards rushed forward.

Then there was a flaring of blue magic, and the enemy army was gone.

"They escaped," said Anetheron as he appeared, "Lord Tichondrius will not be pleased."

"So much the better," replied Kazzak "I will enjoy crushing them a second time."

It had been the best kind of battle — the sort where the enemies were just strong enough to give you a real challenge. Orcs and humans knew how wars were supposed to be conducted. The doomguards returned parted ways with their undead slaves in good spirits.

Their spirits were somewhat dampened at what they found when they returned to camp. Many bodies were being dragged back from the woods. Some of them were peppered with black feathered arrows. Others were hewn with many cruel strokes of a familiar sword.

As if to rub in their failure, Tichondrius took that moment to appear. The Dreadlord emerged from the green mist and approached Kazzak. 'Lord Archimond demands a full report on the progress of the invasion. Be swift, I have business elsewhere to attend to.'

"We have just returned from a victory over the Alliance and Horde." said Kazzak."We have slain many of them, and sewed terror among the rest."No need to mention that some of them escaped.

"'Excellent," said Tichondrius, "and what of your other mission?"

"Lord Kazzak!" cried a doomguard. "We have a survivor!"

Kazzak turned to him, then glanced to Tichondrius. This matter could not afford to wait. The warrior might be dead by the time the dreadlord finished speaking. "Bring him here, I will question him personally."

The doomguard was dragged back alive, held between two others of his kind. One of his legs was missing as well as his left forearm. Kazzak loomed over him as his labored breathing continued. "Master… we have failed you…"

Kazzak felt a sense of pity for the doomguard before him. Then rage at a sound of contempt from the Dreadlord behind him. To die was the goal of all that lived. Yet to be crippled, to suffer the inability to stand by one's own strength. That was a terrible fate indeed. "Your time is short, warrior." said Kazzak."Tell me what you know, that I may ease your passing."

"…It was the death knight," said the doomguard, "he came upon us while we pursued a group of humans and orcs. We scarcely had time to react, he cut my comrades down like wheat, and he took their souls. He… he went north."

"'You heard him!" cried Kazzak to his men. "Focus the search in the area north of that area! Look for tracks! Move now!"

"'May I assume that the death knight continues to elude you, then?" surmised Tichondrius in a smooth and condescending tone that might have been amusement. There was an edge in his tone, however. Whatever the case Kazzak dearly wished to strike down the Dreadlord at that moment. But he knew it was beyond his power.

"Is there anything else, warrior?" asked Kazzak, peering at him. "Anything which might aid us?"

"'He… left me alive to give a message to Tichondrius." stammered the doom guard.

"'Speak it," said Kazzak, "quickly while you still have strength."

"'You were right to fear the scourge." The doomguard told him the message, then closed his eyes in resignation. "Finish it."

Kazzak raised his blade and brought it down to hew the fallen doomguard's skull. Then, wiping his blade upon the grass, he sheathed it. He turned to Tichondrius and was astounded by what he saw. Tichondrius' eyes had widened, his mask of control had slipped just a little. He looked as if he was calculating a thousand different scenarios. Each one more terrible than the last.

Then it passed, and he scoffed. "The final insolence of a hunted mortal, no doubt.'

Kazzak, however, was not quite so sure.

* * *

It was a tranquil pool, undisturbed by the darkness in the Winterspring Valley. Two days had passed since the Horn of Cenarius had been blown. The stags and other animals had gathered to this sacred place, seeking shelter. Amidst these wondrous sights, two lovers reunited. Malfurion Stormrage stepped forward to meet Tyrande, eyes full of love, and sadness.

"It has been a thousand years since I last looked upon you, Tyrande." he said. "I thought of you every moment I wandered through the Emerald Dream."

Tyrande herself had always looked young, yet for the first time, her eyes reflected it. The beautiful maiden approached him and clasped his hands in hers. She looked different. "My heart rejoices to see you again, Furion." said Tyrande, voice holding but a glimmer of the emotion she felt. "But I would not have awakened you unless the need was urgent.' She let go and looked away.

It was not a purely physical difference. He green haired was tied differently true, but she was much the same. He face was still an image of pure beauty, and her ample bust and hips were no different. But her eyes were older. Much like his. There was an edge in them. And her body language was changed, like that of a caged animal. A tiger stalking a place they know is not truly theirs.

What had happened?

Things had changed, even if the night elves had not.

Furion turned out to look across the pool, watching fish swim in and out the rocks. He drove his staff into the waters, and the fish swam around it. Then he removed it. "In the Dream, I felt our land being corrupted, just as if it were my own body. You were right to awaken me."

"The Burning Legion has returned, Furion." said Tyrande. "Cenarius is dead, and outlanders roam freely through our most sacred vales."

"As was foretold…" reflected Malfurion, turning back to the pool. "No doubt Archimonde will make his way to Hyjal Summit and attack the World Tree. If he succeeds in draining the tree's energies, this world will be doomed."

"'My only thought was to awaken you and the rest of the druids." said Tyrande. "The druids of the Talon reside within Barrow Dens at the end of this valley. If we can reach them, we may have a chance to stop Archimondeand his Demons!"

"'To arms!" came a nearby call.

Tyrande and Malfurion turned their gaze to the direction of the sound of battle. Scaling a nearby hill, they looked down to see humans doing battle with the undead. Swords hewed skulls; claws tore at throats. Cleavers cut men in two, while guns were fired to shoot down mighty abominations. Finally, the undead withdrew, bloodied and few in number.

"'That did it boys!" called a female soldier. "We've driven them off! Let's regroup back at our base and tend to our wounded!"

Furion cupped his chin with two fingers. "So, the outlanders battle against the undead as well? They could prove powerful allies against Archimondeand his ilk."

"'They are mongrels and nothing more!" snapped Tyrande."Their orcish allies are responsible for Cenarius' death! I will be damned before I stand with them!"

Malfurion sighed, and for once felt his age. "Perhaps you are right, my love. We will establish our new settlement here. Keep your sentries alert. I doubt that we have seen the last of the outlanders or the undead."

They made their way back to their forces. There Malfurion raised his staff. By his will, the ancients arose from their slumber and lumbered into view. Leading their forces some ways north, they established their new settlement.

The ancients lumbered into place and established themselves. Shelters were established quickly by the sentinels. Tyrande observed it happen, then looked to Shandris.

"Shandris, send runners to the nearby villagers." said Tyrande. "Tell them to must their forces and prepare for war. Ask them to send aid."

"As you wish, Priestess." said Shandris.

As her orders were relayed, Tyrande called to her an owl and sent it wandering to the northwest. As it flew, she saw through its eyes that the orcs had yet another settlement in place. She would have loved nothing more than to purge it, yet there did not seem to be any way up to the cliffs. She did not have any flying beasts. Yet they had many wyverns with them. Sending the owl a little ways along, she saw a dark troll village near a fountain of health.

She had no reason to hate the dark trolls as of yet. "Furion, I have located an ancient fountain of health. It might prove very useful to our wounded. Yet it is guarded by a village of dark trolls. What would you have me do?"

The question was made out of habit, and she wondered why she found it so unpleasant to ask. She had always taken Malfurion's judgment without question in the past.

"'We have no quarrel with the dark trolls." reflected Malfurion."Yet the fountain might prove of great use to us. This is a matter of war, not nature, and I leave the decision to you, my love."

"Very well." said Tyrande."We will wipe them out and take the fountain for ourselves. Shandris, ready our sentinels, we should not need much force for this. Come Furion, it has been many years since we did battle side by side." It was only right that she should decide military matters. She had been the one doing the fighting all these years.

Furion said nothing as they marched through the trees swiftly. Before long they came within sight of the dark trolls and fell upon them. Axes were thrown at them, and arrows were returned in kind. A few sentinels fell wounded to the ground, but they have swiftly dragged away. Many more dark trolls died for the effort. Malfurion raised his staff. Tendrils reached up to grab trolls with thorns, tearing at their flesh. Screams were heard, as Tyrande fired her bow and pierced one through the neck.

Yet a pocket of trolls rallied behind their chieftain. They defended a barricade, hurling spears and axes. The initial was repulsed with casualties, and Tyrande looked to her love as they gathered. 'Malfurion, summon the treants that we might slay these mongrels.'

'As you wish, my love.' said Malfurion, before raising his staff.

The trees themselves roared to life, and charged at the trolls. The barricade was broken. At the same time, the night elves fired their arrows at the trolls, slaying many. Finally, after a few minutes, all of the warriors were dead. The threat of the dark trolls was ended.

Malfurion looked troubled and opened his mouth to speak. Shandris arrived first.

"What of the women and children Priestess?" asked Shandris. "What would you have done with them?"

"'These are not aligned with those who slew Cenarius." said Tyrande. "And they are no threat to us. Let them live. No doubt in a generation, we will face their children. Yet it is the way of things." She glanced to her sentinels. "Bring the wounded to the fountain, immerse them in its healing waters that they might be restored!' Then she recalled that Malfurion had something to say. 'What was it you were saying, my love?"

"'…It is nothing," said Malfurion, "perhaps later."

As they returned to camp, they found the corpses of many wyverns lying upon the ground, broken by stones. The ancient protectors had been at work. At that moment a vast host of wyvern riders flew overhead, and arrows were launched. Yet they paid no heed to the night elves, and instead flew elsewhere. In the distance, Tyrande saw them meet a host of gargoyles in battle, and they tore each other apart.

"Our time is depleting fast." said Tyrande. "With most of our forces battling the Legion, we must find another location for a settlement! Only then will we be able to reach the Barrow Downs!'

Gathering what soldiers were available, Tyrande led her soldiers east, guarding the ancients as they lumbered. As they marched, however, Shandris came with a report.

"Priestess," said Shandris, "a nearby village of night elves has just been raided by the dark trolls. Our attack on their village has enraged them."

"Gather our forces, Shandris." said Tyrande. "We will purge this village of brutes and make our people safe."

"As you command, Priestess."

Shan'do began to speak, then fell silent.

The battle was brief and vicious. For a few moments, the trolls held their own. Then Malfurion summoned the treants and the trees crushed down their enemies. He seemed oddly reluctant to do so, however, and Tyrande wondered why.

Then again he always had been sentimental. Once she had been that way as well. When had it changed? The thought disturbed her.

"We did not need to fight these creatures." said Malfurion."And avoiding a confrontation could have saved many lives."

"'We are in need of haste." said Tyrande."And these mortal races are resilient. Within twenty or thirty years they will have repopulated."

Malfurion said nothing as they continued. In a little grove, they found a place which suited Tyrande's tastes, and she turned to Shandris. "Go to the village, and tell them that it is time for us to move. Lead them here."

"'As you wish, Priestess." said Shandris, before racing off.

Pressing on with her forces, Tyrande halted as she came to a place where a fountain of health had once stood. Great pillars stood on either side of it, marking it as a sacred place for the Furbolgs. Now it was corrupted, its water green slime. Around it was a blighted landscape, and furbolgs wandered. Yet their eyes were mad, and they tore at the ground and at the trees.

'Wait, I know those Furbolgs!' said Tyrande, trying to keep the horror out of her tone. 'They escaped to Ashenvale when the corruption started to spread!'

'Perhaps… they did not escape the corruption after all.' said Malfurion bitterly.

Then the Furbolgs took notice of them and roared ferally. They charged forward with wrath. Malfurion summoned vines to entangle their leader. Arrows were launched without orders at them.

The huntresses rode their panthers into the front. They hurled their glaives, drawing blood. It was hardly even a fair battle. The furbolgs were half starved and mad with rage. They did not fight in any order, and soon the war party died, falling to the ground with moans of pain.

"I've never seen the creatures so… aggressive before." said Malfurion.

"Then I will put an end to their curse!" cried Tyrande.?"Andu falah dor!"

And she led her forces onwards, to the north to where she knew there to be a settlement. The guards were as mad-eyed and aggressive as the others. Tyrande and her forces fell on them with the fury of the woodlands. Launching arrow after arrow, they brought them down in great swaths. Then pressed on to the main village. There they did battle with great numbers of the creatures. One nearly slew Tyrande, only to be pulled back by vines. The trees came to life as Malfurion demanded, and they tore the Furbolgs apart. On and on the battle raged, for hour after hour, until at last the furbolgs all lay slain.

All that remained was a small pocket to the north, on the heights of the hill. Tyrande gave her warriors time to tend to their wounded, and rest before she made the assault. When an hour had passed, she launched the assault.

It was bloody work. The furbolgs fought back with terrible strength. Many night elves were slain in the battle. Blood ran in rivers, and few at the end of it were uninjured. Without Malfurion's control over nature, few indeed might have survived the bitter victory. Tyrande realized that she was not as affected by the many casualties she had suffered as she ought to be.

"You've changed, Tyrande." said Malfurion finally. "There is little mercy left in you."

The words incensed her. "Long ago, I swore to protect this land, Furion. I never had the luxury of sleeping through great peril."

"'If your endless vigil has hardened you, my love,' said Malfurion,"it must be part of your goddess' plan.' The words were unexpected, and Tyrande did not know what to think. So she said nothing.

As they made their way back, Tyrande could not help but wonder what Elune's plan was, and what purpose she served in it.

They returned to the newly constructed settlement and found it already under assault. By trolls. Yet these were different, they wielded spears, and their skin was a new hue. Wyverns flew above them, hurling poisoned spears. Ancients hurled great stones at the creatures. After a few minutes of terrible fighting, the enemy was beaten.

"Priestess Tyrande, thank goodness you came back when you did."' said Shandris. "Our move was harassed by orcs, and even after we drove them off, they returned in greater numbers."

"'It seems our enemies are taking note of our presence." said Tyrande."Would that I had flyers that I might burn their crude villages to the ground."

"To do so would only allow the undead to focus the whole of their attention on us." said Malfurion."It is better if we slip beneath their notice, and let them weaken each other."

"'The time for that plan has passed." replied Tyrande, before calling her forces. She led them east a ways, until she came across a party of huntresses who rode forward.

"'There is danger ahead, Priestess." their leader said. "You must proceed with caution."

Tyrande rode ahead and saw that there was a formidable pass before them. The only way through was barred by a great gate which blocked all entrance to and fro.

"Malfurion," said Tyrande,"ready our forces. I will see what I may learn from our enemies in this place."

Riding forward she summoned a bird to her and sent it flying over the fortress. It was a formidable fort indeed and was guarded by many armed men. Their armor was thick and their shields broad. Despite herself, Tyrande found herself reluctant to slay the humans. She remembered the mercy they had shown the furbolgs earlier, and what she had seen of them. Malfurion's words came back to her, and she shook it off.

The humans had given her no choice.

"Forth sentinels!" cried Tyrande."Wipe them out!"

Leading the charger herself, Tyrande saw the humans open the gates to give battle. Arrows were launched in great volleys that tore through the front defense with ease. Yet as they pressed on, they found themselves faced with far heavier resistance. Malfurion called upon the trees they were hewing to do battle. But the peasants of the humans themselves took up arms and fought.

For a few terrible hours, the battle raged. A paladin fought at the head, healing his warriors and smiting Huntresses left and right. Finally, the Paladin fell against the side of a tree, shot with many arrows, and they pressed on into the town itself.

"Priestess," cried Shandris, "the humans have built the center of their town from stone! Fire will not destroy it."

"'Leave this to me." said Malfurion.

The Druid raised his staff, and massive amounts of vines scaled up the castle. They clenched the stonework as they climbed higher and higher. Until they surrounded it completely. Then they began to tighten. Little by little the vines made indentations in the stone until it began to collapse in on itself. Towers fell down, as those within fled the walls to find the arrows of the night elves waiting for them.

"'Burn the lumber mills, and kill all who oppose us!" cried Tyrande."Shandris, call for the ancients to press forward. We will set up our base here!"

Lumber mills were set to the torch with the very material they had been built to collect. The barracks was torn down, burned from the inside. Tthe remaining human warriors made their stand near the houses. Far more elegant than orcish ones. As the night elves advanced, the soldiers of the humans threw down their weapons. "We surrender damn you!" cried woman. "We surrender!"

There came a pause in the fighting. Tyrande paused, as everyone looked to her. Finally, she spoke. "What do you mean?"

"'We mean we give up!" said the women, coming forward with her hands up. "We admit defeat! We won't oppose you anymore, just don't kill us, please!"

Tyrande had fought wars for over ten thousand years, and she honestly could say that she had no idea what to do next. She turned the whole of her thoughts to the matter and drew a complete blank.

The only consolation was that everyone else among the night elves was just as confused as she was. Nobody had ever, surrendered, as they were saying to her, as long as she had ever lived. There had been a few demons who tried to make deals with her. There had been temporary alliances with dark trolls. Yet wars in Ashenvale were a way of life, there was always a war with one faction or the other. Giving up with the expectation that the other side wouldn't kill you was simple insanity.

What kind of world did these humans come from?!

"'What trickery is this?" asked Tyrande. "You outlanders enter our forests, desecrate our sacred groves. Now just because you've given up fighting, you expect us not to kill you?"

"It's not trickery." said the women, taken aback. "Are you telling me that in the entire history of your species none of your enemies have ever surrendered to you?"

"'We usually don't give them an opportunity." reflected Shandris ruefully.

"'I had intended to spare those of you who could not fight." admitted Tyrande."But why should I let any of those who can go free? You will simply return with new weapons and fight against us again." She raised a hand to give the order to attack.

"Wait, you don't have to actually let us go free!" cried the women quickly. "You could take us, prisoner!"

"As was done to Illidan after he restored the well of eternity." reflected Malfurion. "Yet he was spared because it was judged that his talents might one day be of use to us. What use could these outlanders be put to? It will take resources to hold them, and we will have to feed them."

"'Bargaining power!" said the women quickly. "If you take us prisoner it will strengthen your position in a negotiated peace.'

Absolute silence. The night elves looked at each other, at a complete loss.

"Negotiations." tried the women."You know, when uh… you… you have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

Malfurion looked somewhat abashed. "We… have remained somewhat isolated for the past ten thousand years."

"I can tell." she said."Okay, so, uh… sometimes you have two factions who hate each other a lot. And they are constantly killing each other for a variety of reasons." It sounded like the night elves and the satyrs. "Well, sometimes it is decided that it isn't good for either side to be killing each other anymore. So the leaders of both sides meet and decide on the terms of the truce.

"You know, like uh… what territories belong to who.

"When that happens it is common for prisoners to be exchanged. So if you take us captive, you will be able to get an advantage by holding us, prisoner."

"There is merit in what she says." reflected Malfurion. "Sentinels, get their weapons and bind their hands. Find places for them to be held within the ancients. Go quickly; we have much work to do."

Tyrande glared at him. He had undercut her authority completely, by agreeing to this humans suggestion. She was the commander of the military, it should have been hers to decide. Even so she mastered herself. "Shandris, take charge of the defense of this place. I will head south, and awaken the druids. Come Furion."

They found the gate. After some prolonged attempts to try and figure out how to open it, just broke it down. Beyond they found blighted lands and a pale mist hanging over the trees. Out of the shadows came a force of dryads and huntresses.

"Be careful Priestess!" said one."These woods are overrun by the dead!"

"'Then we shall purge them from this land!" cried Tyrande."Onwards my warriors!"

They had not gone far before they faced great hosts of skeletons and ghosts. Battle was joined. Huntresses cut through bones with their glaives. Tyrande fired arrows, imbuing them with magic that interrupted the power of the skeletons. Dryads ran the ghosts through with spears. Even as they destroyed one force and went on, still more undead around to challenge them.

Great wolves, mad-eyed, rushed out of the trees. Yet the arrows of the night elves cut them down with ease. Pressing on, they met more and more undead. Some of them wielded bows. An arrow caught a sentinel in the shoulder, and she fell before Malfurion summoned the trees to tear them apart.

The enemy was repulsed.

No sooner had they halted to rest, the undead returned. Once again the night elves fought. Tyrande and her warriors drove the undead before them to the edge of a ghostly river. They did battle in the shroud of fog and destroyed them all.

As they crossed spirits came out of the mist. Their cries filled their minds with horrors as a massive revenant approached.

Arrows blotted out the waning sun, while dark magic filled the air. On and on the combat waged. Tyrande danced aside from the revenant's mace atop her tiger, firing arrow after arrow. At last the enemies were slain, and the revenant fell dead.

As soon as it died, the mists faded. The blighted ground was healed, and the trees which had been wilting became fresh and green. Birds sang again, and deer began to roam once more as animals returned from hiding. Yet there was still much to be done.

"Hopefully, the land should heal itself from this cursed blight." said Tyrande. ''We should get moving. The Barrow Dens lie within the valley just ahead of us.'

They came over the crest of the hill and Tyrande stopped in horror. Many figures with goat hooves and wild beards were in the clearing below. They had blades in their hands, and the stench of fel corruptions was everywhere.

"No! The outpost has been corrupted! And the treants have been driven mad!" said Tyrande. "They do not deserve this cruel fate!" She led her forces down the hill, towards the entrance to the pass. However, they found it barred by a satyr and many treants.

"Come no further, weakling!" said the Satyr in contempt. "Lord Tichondrius commanded us to kill anyone who attempted to enter this place, and we shall!"

"Pathetic wretches!" cried Malfurion in rage. "It pains me to know that you once called yourselves night elves!"

Battle was joined with no mercy or quarter given on either side. The satyrs danced with duel blades and killed several archers. Yet several were shot down in turn. Huntresses clashed their blades with the wholly legged monsters. Tyrande shot two through the throat while Shandris killed five.

Then a great stone whistled out of the air. Tyrande ducked, and it surged overhead to crush an archer.

Tyrande looked up to see corrupted ancients lining the ridge. Malfurion raised his staff and summoned vines to hold the satyrs in place, then summoned yet more trees. At last, the enemy was overrun, but as they approached more stones were hurled at them. Several sentinels fell near Tyrande.

The night elves set fire to the tormented creatures. They moaned in agony as the flames coursed up their rotting bodies. Finally, they fell into ashes and settled into the peace of death.

Yet this was only the edge of the horrors.

They found beyond a grove of trees that was twisted and horrible. The limbs were like claws and hatred oozed from them. At the center were what had once been moonwells, and ancients. All were in agony now.

"What do we do, Priestess?" asked Shandris.

Tyrande closed her eyes. "Destroy them all. We have no choice."

"She is right." said Malfurion. "The source of this taint must be burned away for the forest to heal.

Every treant was destroyed. Every corrupted moonwell was filled in. Every ancient was set aflame. The corruption which filled its boughs would not spread.

Finally, tired beyond measure, but resolute, they made their way up to the Barrow Dens.

* * *

The Barrow Dens was a large structure, surrounded by a great wall of ancient design and make. In times of trouble, it could have been held against a vast army by only a few. Yet those within were sleeping.

Malfurion stood at the threshold and raised his staff on high.

"Come forth, Druids of the Talon!" he cried."Let the Storm Crows fly once again upon the winds of war!" His voice reached forth to the building, and out of the windows flew host upon host of crows. They circled above him in great clouds. Three of them descended and transformed into the forms of elves.

"Ishnu-alah, my brethren." said Malfurion, taking one by the shoulder. "Kalimdor has need of your powers once again. For the hour of doom is at hand."

"We are yours to command, Shan'do Stormrage." said their leader.

"Now we must delve into the earth," said Malfurion, "and rouse the ferocious druids of the claw from their slumber."

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

This chapter was a nightmare to fix. It had all kinds of pacing problems, a remnant of the videogamey approach to storytelling which I hadn't quite abandoned by this point. Once I've completely edited Rage of the Eternal into a better looking format, I intend to go back and split up some of the longer chapters so it's less of a slog to read through them.

On a separate note, I just realized something. When Arthas purges Stratholme, the only way to save his kingdom and save the people of the city from a far worse fate, it's presented as a moral event horizon. When Tyrande brutally slaughters the entire furbolg race because they got a little aggressive, she's doing what needs to be done.

Blizzard's stance seems to be that's it is A-okay to commit genocide as long as you are only pretending to be a good person. If you are genuinely trying to do the right thing you've crossed a line. But if you're still committing horrific atrocities for fun while making excuses, like the orcs or night elves, you're doing what needs to be done.

Is there any wonder a lot of people regard Tyrande as a villain?


	5. Elsewhere

**Chapter Five: Elsewhere**

A squad of doomguards made their way through the forest, in good spirits. They had crushed humans in battle, and the memory of their screams had put them in a good mood.

"Did you see how that human squealed for mercy?" laughed one.

"I'll remember her screams for a long time."

Then they saw a single orc standing in front of them. He was tremendous for an orc, but still far smaller than they, and had gray hair. They clustered around him. "Look at this, a poor defenseless old man. Why don't you hobble away from us? Maybe we'll let you get away."

There was a long silence. The doomguards realized the old man did not look scared or impressed. They shifted uncomfortably as he looked at each one in turn.

* * *

"You're a bunch of idiots." said Grom Hellscream.

With one blow of his axe, he cut all five of them in half at the waist before making his way onwards. Some ways on, he found the group of humans which had gone missing. Once he would have been satisfied by the fact, but now his lust for blood had gone out of him. He found no joy at the sight of his mangled former enemies and made his way back to camp.

"Grom, where have you been?" asked Thrall.

"Looking around," said Grom, "I found the missing group of humans. The doomguards got to them. Then I got to the doom guards." He paused. "Where is that Proudmoore girl? I need to speak with her."

"I don't know," said Thrall, "she never stays in one place for long. She's always teleporting from one camp to another, giving orders. This time was different though."

"How?" asked Grom.

"Well, she asked me where Cairne was." said Thrall. "She wants to forge an alliance between him and someone. She's been gone for a whole day."

"An alliance with who?" asked Grom.

"Hell if I know." snapped Thrall.

The Warchief seemed to be in a particularly foul mood today. It was most unlike him. "Is something wrong, Warchief?"

Thrall sighed bitterly. "The night elves hit another village."

Grom's blood went cold.

* * *

A red sky hung over the barrens as Jaina Proudmoore waited in the meeting place. She had teleported there some time ago. It was a small shrine of raised stones. It had been chosen because it existed at border between the lands of the three races. Pinpointing exactly where this was had been more than a little difficult. Each race had an inflated idea of how far their territory stretched. It didn't help that Jaina had to run a war at the same time. Not to mention manage the colonization of Theramore. Things were progressing well, judging from her reports. Yet that was neither here nor there.

Cairne Bloodhoof seemed on edge. His gaze was cautious as the quillboar and centaur leadership made their way up the slope. His warriors snorted aggressively. The horsemen and pigmen came to stand before them.

"We are here," said Khan Shodo, "speak your proposition."

"Thank you," said Jaina, "gentlemen, we are facing a crisis which threatens to consume us all. Demons are wandering the barrens unchecked, killing at will. You have all seen their work first hand, in the brutal slaughter of the innocent.

"This cannot continue."

"It is true," said Cairne in a tired tone, "my people have suffered much at the hands of the demons. Yet not nearly as much as they have by the work of these horsemen."

'Your kind is too weak to survive without the aid of the orcs.' said the Shodo. 'It is only right that the lesser races burn.'

"You centaur are bold when slaughtering the children and old men." said the quillboar, Warlord Ramtusk. "We have not observed such courage when facing warriors.'

"Perhaps I should demonstrate our might, and slay you all then." replied Shodo.

"Can we not kill each other during parley, please?" asked Jaina.

"You are more than welcome to try, savage!" cried Cairne. "You'll find that this old man is more than a match for your kind!"

Weapons were drawn, and things were going badly. Jaina stepped between them. "This is absurd!" she said. "If we are going to bring up every vendetta we have then we might as well have stayed home!"

"We like that idea." said Ramtusk. "Stop wasting time."

"This is not a waste of time!" cried Jaina. "Light above, our world is being invaded. The demons have come to annihilate everything we love! We cannot afford to be involved in three-way combat between our factions when the end is nigh!"

There was a long pause. "She speaks correctly."' said Ramtusk, finally. "Our race came about because of the destruction of the Burning Legion. We do not wish that destruction to happen a second time."

"Then what do you propose?" asked Cairne. "That we ally with our oldest enemy?"

"Why not?" asked Jaina. "I've done it just recently, and its worked out pretty well."

"What do you propose?" asked Shodo.

"That we simply agree to stop killing each other until the Legion is defeated." said Jaina. "That seems easy enough, don't you think? That was we can all put our full attention against the Legion."

"…There is wisdom in your words." said Cairne. "I am willing."

"As are we." said Ramtusk.

"Our warriors shall not attack their peoples, so long as the demons still draw breath." said Shodo.

"Good," said Jaina, "now there is another problem. Individually the legions warriors are stronger than ours. Their unholy magics means that we must outnumber them to gain victory. So far the Legion has attacked individual villages. They retreat before any organized defense can be mustered. We have to bring the Legion to battle before more lives are lost."

"What do you propose?" asked Cairne.

Jaina smiled.

* * *

In the ruins of an abandoned village, Azgalor contented himself with burning. Once there had been many quillboars here. Then he and his warriors had fallen upon them and slain all who stood in their way. Only a few had escaped, and those were being hunted down now. Around him, his Pit Lords and Doomguards were torturing those who had been captured. After an hour, their screams grew tiresome, and they were executed.

It was at that moment that he sensed a presence, a powerful magic appearing. Azgalor rushed forward on his four legs. He saw before her the blonde sorceress who had given the Legion such trouble. He brought his weapon down, but it passed right through her, and he halted. She was now some distance away.

"You know, you aren't supposed to kill messengers during parley." The sorceress said. "It's dishonorable, to say the least."

"Honor," laughed Azgalor, "we Pit Lords have no need for such archaic concepts. If you came to plead for mercy, you are wasting your time."

"I came to see Mannaroth's replacement." said the sorceress. "I am not impressed."

Azgalor raised a hand, and a surge of flame descended from the sky to crash into her. There was a massive explosion. It broke apart the flimsy huts, and dust scattered everywhere. When it settled, the sorceress was still standing there, looking unamused.

"Tell me," she said, "is it a lack of ambition which causes you to waste your time attacking defenseless infants? Or are you simply terrified of facing a worthy adversary."

"Worthy adversary?" scoffed Azgalor. "There is only one among your kind who might be such, and he is no longer among your assets." Her eyes narrowed, and Azgalor knew he had hit a nerve. Around her, the doomguards and pit lords gathered from the direction. She was now surrounded on all sides.

"Perhaps," said Jaina, "perhaps not. However, you must admit that compared to the alliance of Lordaeron, these…" She searched for a word. "Lesser creatures are hardly a challenge."

"I will confess that your kind made excellent sport." replied Azgalor. "Are you challenging me?"

"Yes," said Jaina, "gather your forces and meet me upon the plain over the next ridge." She motioned with her staff. "It is there that we shall see if you are truly Mannaroth's equal." The doomguards rushed at her, but she disappeared in a flash of blue light.

"She is baiting us," said a doomguard, "she seeks to draw us into a trap."

"Pitiful wretch!" snarled Azgalor. "We are the Burning Legion! One of us is greater than a thousand of them! We will meet the humans in battle, and crush their kind into the dust! Doomguards and pit lords! To me! Call upon our warriors, every scout, every slasher, every imp, and voidwalker! Bring them forth; we see true battle at last!"

A roar echoed, and the burning legion rushed away, dreams of battle on their minds.

* * *

Jorn the Redeemer was waiting for Jaina when she returned. The Paladin bowed his head to her as she approached. "Milady, were you successful?"

"Yes," said Jaina, "I think I was."

"That is good," said Jorn, before looking to their forces. Perhaps five hundred soldiers of the alliance were here today: footmen, riflemen, priests, sorceresses, and a few knights.

"Milady," said Jorn, "I do not think this will be enough."

"We are not the army that will be fighting." said Jaina. "I thought we went over this."

"Yes, but we cannot rely upon the other races." said Jorn. "They may well decide to leave us here to die!"

"On the contrary, Jorn." said Jaina. "They got here before you."

Jorn remained silent and looked around. He saw nothing but a flat plain, surrounded by hills. The wind blew over it, sending a cloud of dust past them, and he raised a gauntleted hand to cover his face. "I do not see them."

"That's the idea." said Jaina.

"Milady," said a footman, "the ground is shaking."

Sure enough, the tremors reached them. A nearby loose stone began to vibrate, clattering up and down faster and faster. Fel cries reached their ears. Jorn looked up as out of the hills poured countless demons of every shape and size. At their head was Azgalor, who roared as he charged forward, spinning his weapon through the air.

"You are men of Lordaeron!" cried Jorn. "Whatever comes for us, you will defeat it!"

The Alliance stood in place as the demons rushed forward. Their cries overpowered every other sound. At that moment, Jaina snatched up a horn and blew a long, shrill note upon it.

The trap was sprung! Tauren appeared from nowhere in great force, supported by trolls who set downwards. Cairne Bloodhoof himself stood at the front! The demons charge was broken upon their formation. Many died in seconds, surprised by the appearance of the cowmen. Cairne brought his halberd around to meet Azgalor's weapon head on. The air seemed to warp beneath the strength of their blows.

Then out of the dust appeared the quilboars. They emerged from hiding places beneath the sand and took the demons by surprise. They stabbed, hurled spears and summoning spirit pigs to aid them. As the battle raged, Jaina raised one hand and set off yet another trap. A great wall of magic arose between the legions forces, cutting the armies off from each other.

Separated and without reinforcements, the Legion was soon herded into little islands. They fought against the waves and waves of quilboars, humans, and tauren. Yet before long, the demons began to circle the wall to join the fray.

"Jorn," said Jaina, "take your forces into battle!"

"For Lordaeron!" cried Jorn, before charging forward.

With one blow he caved in the skull of a doomguard, before healing a mortally wounded soldier. Jaina watched her forces enter the fray. She motioned with one hand and summoned a group of water elementals. These too joined the fray. Casting another spell, she called down waves of ice upon the demons.

Soon infernals began to rain from the sky. More enemy reinforcements came rushing from the hills to aid in the combat. Demon blood was spilled in oceans, yet little by little the tide was beginning to turn against them. Azgalor and Cairne could be seen fighting with each other. They dueled back and forth with blows of such force that they could break apart a mountain. Then, just as Jaina was about to consider planning a retreat, another horn call came.

Then came the centaurs riding in a great formation from both sides to smash into the demons flanks. They carved through the creatures with their axes, hewing down all that barred their way. Shodo could be seen, riding to slash Azgalor across the side. As he reeled Cairne struck the Pit Lord across the face. Rearing up, as his enemies crowded around him, the pit lord fell and landed with a thunderous crash.

With their master defeated, the demons broke ranks and fled. Their savagery and valor were forgotten as the tide turned against them.

More than fifteen thousand demons died upon the field that day. Azgalor had drawn the whole of his forces into that single assault and been beaten soundly. The unlikely alliance had suffered many casualties as well. It had been bitter fighting. Nearly six thousand in all died in the bloodletting, though tales of their valor would be sung for ages to come.

In the aftermath of the combat, the leaders met again.

"The plan was a good one." admitted Shodo. "You humans fight with cunning enough to make up for your weak legs."

"We have gained a great victory." said Ramtusk.

"Indeed," said Cairne, "I never thought that I would fight a battle alongside either of your kind. Though we shall likely be enemies after this war, you are worthy allies."

"As are you." replied Shodo. "For now, however, I would have there be no war between our peoples." He offered Cairne a hand.

There was a long silence. Cairns looked at the hand with wide eyes, then reached out and took it. Then they separated.

"Lady Jaina," said a soldier, "the body of the Pit Lord, it's gone."

"What?" said Jaina. "It can't have disappeared."

"Perhaps he escaped." reflected Cairne.

"It matters not," said Shodo, "his army is broken."

"For now," said Jaina, "but we have no idea how many demons are waiting to be called into this world. Have your people fan out and search for him, if we can cut him down now, it might save us a lot of trouble later."

Shodo looked at her incredulously.

"Please." said Jaina.

The races complied, but no one saw heads or tails of Azgalor until far later.

* * *

For his part, the Pit Lord limped away from the battlefield. He felt his wounds healing as his strength returned to him. As he made his way back to his base of operations, he found his few remaining warriors. Those that had stayed behind to guard the camp.

"Lord Azgalor," said a doomguard, "where are the armies."

"The fools were too weak to defeat mortals," snapped Azgalor, "now they are nearly all dead! Find our warlocks! Tell them to begin summoning reinforcements at once! We must replenish our numbers!"

"Should we not see Lord Archimonde-"

A blade was put to his throat. "Not a word of this is to reach Archimonde." said Azgalor. "He would have us butchered like pigs if he learned of our defeat. Now rally our remaining forces, and have them prepare a defense. We must hold this position until our reinforcements arrive."

Within a day individual war parties of the natives from other clans began to assault the demons base. It was bloody fighting, and Azgalor was pushed to his limit. It seemed as if for every demon that was summoned one of them fell. The Pit Lord and his warriors pressed on, fighting tooth and nail until the attacks ceased.

* * *

Over the course of a few days, Azgalor was able to get his forces back up to a reasonable strength. Even so, he was hard pressed, and it would be many weeks before he was able to do anything more than hold his ground.

Archimonde was fully aware of Azgalor's defeat, though the exact details eluded him. Most of his agents had been elsewhere, for the Barrens were a low priority target. Azgalor had managed to keep the legion from total defeat. So Archimonde was disinclined to press the matter. It was fortunate for the Pit Lord that he was in a forgiving mood.

Even so, he was impressed with the human sorceress and curious as to how she had accomplished such a victory. So, raising one hand, he opened a portal and summoned a lieutenant of his. He did not usually call upon the succubi for aid. He preferred to rely on the Nathrezim. However, their record for observation had been less than perfect of late. A portal opened, and a long leather-clad leg stepped into view.

"You called for me, Lord Archimonde?" asked a husky feminine voice.

A Queen of Suffering stepped fully into view — the Queen of Suffering to be exact. Her skin was as red as blood, and at the moment she was eight feet tall. Her bodies shape was exaggerated and packed into tight leather, meant to inspire lust. At her side was a coiled up whip, and her batwings were stretching on either side of her. She was deadly, and among the most cunning of his subordinates. Archimonde wondered why it was that he never used her kind.

"Kirrassan," said Archimonde, "I have need of your talents. The natives of central Kalimdor have become a thorn in my side. I would know how it is that they have united against the Legion. And what part the humans had to play in it."

"You haven't called me in over three hundred and sixty-seven years." she said. 'And the first thing you want me to do is glorified scouting? Doesn't this job better suit your errand boy Tichindrius?"

"Do you question me, Kirrassan?" asked Archimond, a threat in his tone.

"Of course not, oh mighty Archimonde." she said with clear sarcasm. "Whatever gave you that impression? I'll see what I can learn on the subject." Then she was gone in red mist.

Anyone else would be dead for that.

Now Archimonde remembered why it was that he never used Kirrassan and her ilk. They were the only members of the Legion that he could not afford to kill with impunity. The succubi had integrated themselves into many different levels of the demons hierarchy. This infiltration was also combined with a remarkable loyalty to their superiors. And a particular lack of the backstabbing and infighting. If Kirrassan were to die, the resulting reprisals could set the legion back years. Knowing this, she enjoyed reminding him of the fact by treating him as an equal.

Archimonde began considering ways that he might slay her without triggering her retribution. Kil'jaden had been trying to find a way to get rid of her for centuries without success. It was something to consider in his off hours.

* * *

Garithos rode into battle. He caught a doomguards sword on his shield, before beheading the creature with his axe. Beside him, a footman was cut down by an abomination, while a knight was dragged from his horse by a hellhound. Skeletons pressed in around them, as Garithos hacked and slashed, riding too and fro.

It was not his style to take a direct hand in things. But ever since Archmage Antonidas had returned there had been a conflict of command. Garithos needed to be on the front, to show that he was better suited to lead than the Archmage. Thus it was that he slashed the arm from an abomination. Then he hacked a ghoul in twain, summoned the light to burn the first creature.

His men rallied and swiftly turned the tide against the creatures, driving them back. Yet it was not yet over, for a great force of ghouls was charging towards them. Garithos opened his mouth to order a charge.

However, waves of ice descended on the ghouls, tearing them to pieces in moments. Garithos looked up in silent fury as Archmage Antonidas rode forward on a black horse. The men cheered. Every time Garithos seemed about to gain a victory, the Wizard would appear and steal credit.

The village was saved. Garithos found the lives of a few peasant small compensation for his loss of glory, however.

"Your assistance was not required, Archmage." he said as Antonidas approached. "You are not needed here."

"These are the lands of Dalaran, Garithos." replied Antonidas. "I will not stand idle while the undead subvert them." He turned to the soldiers. "You have done well men; the village is safe. At ease!" Then the Archmage glanced to Garithos with a knowing expression. He knew what the knight was doing. "You will be happy to know, by the way, that the war in Quel'thalas is going well. Prince Kael'thas is bringing order to the region."

"I see no reason why we should concern ourselves with those treasonous elves." snapped Garithos, and to his satisfaction, there were murmurs of agreement. "We sacrificed our men in droves to protect their vaunted homeland once. And what did we gain from it?"

"We may yet be repaid." replied Antonidas. "Prince Kael'thas has promised that he will take a force of men south into Lordaeron. To assist against the undead."

"We don't need their kind." hissed Garithos.

"If what you say is true," said Antonidas, 'then defeating the dreadlords shall be a simple matter. Now, if you will excuse me, Grand Marshall, I must see to the rebuilding of my city. I shall have an extra portion of ale laid aside for your men, in recognition of their bravery." Raising his staff, he teleported away.

Garithos fumed silently. Antonidas had been quite active in wooing his soldiers. No doubt to prevent him from putting the battle for Lordaeron in capable hands. It was well known that Antonidas was one of those… Garithos hesitated to call them people. The ones' who believed that all races were equal. As if any species save humanity was worthy of existing in this world.

 _'He will bring the Alliance to ruin.'_ said a voice in his mind. _'Under him, humanity will become puppets of the elves. He must not be allowed to succeed.'_ Were those his thoughts? They were certainly telling Garithos what he wanted to hear.

He shrugged them away. Antonidas was no fool, for all his faults. He was not incompetent.

* * *

A company of forest trolls made their way through the trees, heading for an elven hamlet. As they clutched their axes, however, the underbrush near them was thrust aside. Dozens of elves appeared. Their arrows were launched, and within moments two dozen trolls had died. Hurling axes, in turn, they claimed the lives of several elves, yet the other ducked to cover. More arrows slew the creatures.

The elvish company moved onwards under the leadership of a white-haired elf. A little further on, they caught a contingent of undead marching along a path. They ambushed them, firing countless arrows into their midsts. Quickly moving along the path, the elves soon came to a hamlet and there met up with the militia.

A great host of undead then arrived and assaulted them. During the battle, several of the elves were possessed by dark spirits. Half a dozen died to them before they were put down. A full dozen rangers died against the undead.

With victory theirs, the elves rested.

Sylvanas Windrunner, however, made her way to a nearby farmstead. There she met up with yet another company of elves who were ready for combat. Leading them, she assaulted a forest troll village. Killing the warriors, she herded the women and children into a building. Then she set fire to it to burn the beasts alive.

Returning to the village, Sylvanas rallied the defenders to repulse a troll reprisal. The battle was bloody and lasted the better part of the day. Both sides suffered casualties, but the Forest Trolls had the worst of it. They retreated to lick their wounds, far fewer in number.

It had all passed in a blur for Sylvanas.

The high elves enemies had suffered terribly today. And for many months no one would dare threaten this village for fear of Sylvanas and her rangers. The elven ranger could take no comfort from it. At night she could barely sleep. Her hands shook, and she was beset with a terrible hunger and thirst which no food or drink could quench. It was always nagging at her mind, and the only way she could distract herself from it was to work. To fight, to kill just to keep the madness she felt creeping over her at bay.

It would have been easier if there was someone to talk to. But there wasn't. Alleria was dead, Lirath was dead. Vereesa had run off to light knew where. Lor'themar was busy moving the pieces around for politics in pursuit of racial purity. He'd convinced Kael'thas that Sylvanas had been emotionally compromised. She'd been recalled several times, but Sylvanas had ignored the order. She was needed here, not catering to the whims of a dynasty who had let the situation fall apart this much.

She lay in bed as darkness fell, sobbing uncontrollably as she tried to ignore the pain. Was it her, or were he nails looking more and more like claws in the moonlight. Her hair, once golden as the sun had turned pale as death over the past few months. With every passing moment, she became more and more afraid that she would lose herself. That insanity would finally overtake her, and she would become a wretched.

When at last she drifted off to sleep, her dreams were plagued with nightmares.

And then she heard the voice. She listened.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

I've noticed that Garithos and Kazzak's characterization has moved on since this fic. Kazzak is more sadistic in this fic and less of a deadpan snarker. While Garithos is more overtly villainous.

Whatever. I'm just glad I dropped the omniscient narrator gig.


	6. Brutality

**Chapter Six: Brutality**

The night elven village was a small one, out of the way. Little more than an outpost which had grown up around the resident hunters hall. A place for sentinels to rest when they were weary, and leave to go hunting anew. Small gardens dotted its outskirts. There the locals used the nature magic they knew to grow food, the excess of which they would sell.

There had been many sentinels here of late. The moonwells had been put to constant use healing the wounds of the injured. Little by little their magic power was being expended. Soon they would have to wait sometime before they could be used again.

Even so, there was a certain tranquility about it. It had thus far remained undisturbed by the wars. A few furbolgs who had kept their sanity were resting here.

Then came the satyrs. They rushed out of the trees and cut down the watch before they could move. By the time the night elves had rallied, the Satyr's were already there, cutting them down. Arrows flew and several of the creatures fell dead, but more still came. An archer was hewn down. A group of huntresses rode into battle, hurling their glaives to slash the satyrs.

The fray raged on, back and forth. The satyrs were many, and soon the defense was overrun. Those sentinels who were not slain in battle were clapped in chains. They were dragged away to be sold as slaves for the pleasure and depravity of satyrs. Satyr's hated night elves, but their bodies fetched a high price on the market.

Those who were judged to have no value were executed without mercy.

For his part, Tichondrius observed the matter with some satisfaction. It was reassuring to know that the satyrs were capable of some victories. After their recent failure, he had begun to doubt their credibility. In time they might become a member race of the Burning Legion, as they so desired.

Then his attention was drawn to a group of night elven refugees, fleeing away from the battle. The sentinels had been buying them time to escape into the woods. To his satisfaction, the satyrs had sent a war party after them. It was only a matter of time before they were all dead.

Perhaps Tichondrius didn't have to do everything himself.

* * *

The Watcher stalked through the darkness of Ashenvale alone. It had been her duty to keep him imprisoned. However, with the end of all things approaching, she had sought to aid in the battle to come. As she walked, she heard cries of desperation and hastened her steps.

The satyr war party rushed through the trees, lusting for blood and fresh from victory. The pitiful night elves had changed with the times. As they had become the dominant race in Ashenvale, they had moved past their warrior heritage. Not all among the night elves were combatants, as it was with satyrs. There had been a growing number of them who survived by trade and organized growing of edible plants.

Now the result of that weakness was plain to see. The pitiful creatures had lost what warriors they had and were now helpless before them. They were upon them! Already the satyr's had begun to think of which ones they would take as slaves, and which ones they would kill and how.

Then a shadow leaped down from the trees, shrouded in a cloak and wearing metal armor. The unmistakable visage struck terror through their hearts, as they halted in place. They were too afraid to attack at the sight of two judging eyes.

"The Watcher…" said one in a trembling voice.

They raised their weapons, but the Watcher hurled a spinning dagger. It slashed out two of their throats. They came at her, swinging wildly. But the watcher stepped away with ease, dodging their assault while scarcely moving. Then she made a movement beneath her concealing cloaks. The satyr's were pierced with countless knives that sent them falling away, dead.

Three remained behind, and broke into a run, fleeing in terror. A poisoned dagger drove itself into the back of their leader. The others dodged and weaved throughout the trees, desperately seeking and escape.

It was denied them when the Watcher appeared in front of them.

* * *

A few hours later the satyr search party found two bodies of their comrades hanging from the trees. They had no wounds on them, save those made by the cords which bound them. They had been hung by the cords and choked to death.

A little further on they found the grisly scene of the rest of the war parties fate.

They pursued the night elves no further.

* * *

Maive Shadowsong watched in satisfaction from a nearby cliff. Her cloak flowed about her as lightning illuminated the sky behind her. She had gone far afield from guarding Illidan's cage. It had worried her once. Now she was glad she had. Turning, she made her way back into the darkness and was gone.

There was other prey to hunt.

* * *

The shadows of Ashenvale had been lengthening in the past few days. The darkness of the world was increasing, while the light was waning. Despite the many small victories won, Archimonde's glorious agenda continued without halt. And to make matters better, the scouts returned from their search. Kazzak met them personally. "Well, what have you to report?"

"The death knight has fled north, as you suspected, Lord Kazzak." the doomguard said. "We tracked him all the way to Winterspring. There we encountered a great host of humans and orcs and were forced to abandon the search. It is possible he is seeking shelter amongst them."

Kazzak smiled. "Perfect, now we will finish the Alliance and Horde, and the death knight all at once. Call together all our warriors, and contact Anetheron! Tell him we march to do battle with the Alliance and Horde, and finish this game once and for all!"

He raised his sword. "Rejoice, my warriors, the hour of victory is near!"

Cheers of enthusiasm came from the doomguards as they raised their swords in salute. The hellhounds bayed for blood, their howls carrying high to the moon above, as the Legion made ready for war. It took several hours for the forces to be mustered, then the undead and demons marched forth as a great host.

* * *

It was a bitter scene amongst the Alliance and Horde. Their campaign had not been without victories. But a terrible cost had been payed, particularly amongst the orcs. Their forces had been sent to reinforce several orc villages. Each time they arrived to find horrific carnage. They could do nothing but look for survivors. There were few if any.

The night elves had quickly developed a reputation amongst the orcs as monsters. Creatures of nightmare far more terrible than any demon. Among the humans they were regarded as noble savages. Primarily because the humans were not the victims of their wrath. Orcs were slaughtered to the last, while the humans were allowed to live. Several had gone so far as to make commentary that they should ally with them instead of the orcs. This had been the source of several fights, which had nearly gotten out of control.

For her part, Jaina was beginning to share the orc perspective. Unlike many of her subjects, she saw the orcs as people. And in all her years she'd never seen anything approaching the brutality of the night elves. Even the cult of the damned had been less creative in how they perpetuated their atrocities.

Which was why she was standing with her back to the recent display of night elven ingenuity. It consisted of the bodies of children, babies, creatively arranged on stakes. Jaina tried not to throw up. Several of her subordinates were not so restrained, but as the leader, she had to be in control.

"I… I wanted to thank you." said Grom Hellscream behind her.

The voice surprised her, and she turned to face the chieftain. He was standing there, looking like a man lost. "Thank me?" she asked. "For what?"

"For…" he paused, "for helping Thrall stop me. Without you, I might have killed him myself. And for saving my men, I've heard from Nazgrel that your magics saved many of my soldiers from the doomguards."

"It wasn't anything personal," said Jaina, "I need your forces as much as you need mine." She wasn't particularly interested in making friends with someone of Grom Hellscream's reputation. He was in his element here, even if it was not of his making.

Silence overtook them as Grom looked to the atrocities, face conflicted. "I… I've seen this before. I've done things like this before. I've committed every atrocity these night elves have done, and more. I've spent my entire life doing this kind of thing, because… because the demons, and my fellow orcs expected it of me. Because it never occurred to me to do anything else."

Jaina sighed. "We're far from innocent ourselves. The first war was a series of massacres perpetuated by Stormwind and your people on each other. Stormwind killed as many orcs as you did humans. But it didn't matter because it was an entire world against one nation.

"My Father was part of the force that destroyed Rockyard, Stoneyard. Destroyed Blackrock Spire. He was incredibly proud of his part in it; it was the feather in his cap, his finest hour. I remember when I was a girl he would tell my brothers and me how they used water elementals. They wiped away the greatest cities of the orcs.

"It's why I became a sorceress in the first place. I wanted to summon water elementals and do the same thing. I remember that I was thinking about all that. Then Arthas convinced me to sneak away from the guards and go see an internment camp.

"And I realized that the thousands of orcs my father killed all had families. They had friends. They didn't want to die. And now they were prisoners, kept in chains and forced to do hard labor as slaves."

"You give yourself too little credit." said Grom mournfully. "I knew the minds of my fellow chieftains, of my people. Had they been victorious in the second war this…" He motioned around him. "This would have been all that remained of your people. Alterac would have been killed last in recognition for their assistance.

"And my people would now be in the thrall of the Burning Legion. I have killed so many, for so little, for so long and now I am old. And I wonder… what might have been?" For a moment his expression was almost tender. Then his gaze hardened and he arose to his full height, shouldering his axe. "We will never again speak of this."

The fell silent as the atrocities were cleared away. It began to rain, washing away the blood and grime, and cooling the embers upon the village. Their gaze met for a moment, and there was an understanding in that moment. Not friendship, such a thing was not possible with so much blood between them so recently. Yet Jaina doubted either of them would be so quick to do battle with one another in the future.

It was something, she supposed.

The dark troll entered the hall of Vol'jin, an elderly female old enough to need a staff to support herself. Vol'jin arose from his throne, and helped her to a seat, before sitting down. "Well matron, ye be wanting a meeting with the chief of the jungle trolls. What is it ye be wanting?"

The matron looked down in humiliation. "We… we be needing protection. The night elves came upon our villages and slaughtered all our warriors. We be having no way to survive dese troubled times without em.

"If ye will give us warriors, we will be serving you gladly."

Vol'jin felt a surge of pity. "I be seeing what these night elf animals have done first hand with me own eyes. Me warriors will guard your clans as if they were our own."

The matron breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank ye."

So it was that the dark trolls came under the protection of the Horde.

* * *

The moon shone high overhead as Tyrande rested. Yet sleep eluded her. The spirits of the wood were restless, and she felt as though some confrontation was coming. She arose from her bed; she was still sleeping separately from Malfurion, as now was now the time. Drawing her dagger, she began to sharper it with a whet stone, when the flap of her tent moved.

Her dagger came up in instants, pointed at the throat of a figure robed in brown. Only the bottom of his face could be seen, and it was of green hue, with a black beard.

"An orc," she said, "how did a foul creature such as yourself get past my sentinels."

'I can avoid being seen.' came the reply. Bringing up his hands, the figure drew off his hood. Beneath were rugged features and contemplative eyes. "I am Thrall, Warchief of the Horde and I have come to parley with you."

"I could kill you where you stand." said Tyrande, yet something about his manner disturbed her.

"Do you think my own life matters to me, after what you have done to my people? To the dark trolls, and the furbolgs you once protected? Or the satyr's you so despise?" asked Thrall. "Children impaled on stakes, their mothers mutilated. Bodies of honorable warriors desecrated. How many innocent people have you slaughtered in cold blood? How many more need to die before this madness stops."

"Your kind deserves no mercy!' cried Tyrande. 'You slew Cenarius, and exposed this forest to the taint of the Legion!'

'Cenarius attacked us." said Thrall simply. "His minions assaulted our villages without defiance sent. He destroyed three of them without mercy before Grom slew him. Until you began to kill our woodcutters we had no concept that this place was inhabited. By the time we did, the war was already underway."

"The life of Cenarius was worth far more than ten thousand villages of your kind!" snarled Tyrande.

"Why?" asked Thrall.

The question surprised her. It seemed so obvious that there was no need to justify it. "What?" asked Tyrade.

"Why is the life of one reckless immortal demigod, drenched in blood, worth more than a single child?" asked Thrall. "Why does immortality make one superior to a mortal?"

"Cenarius was the guardian of this world!" cried Tyrande. "He has stood against the demons for countless ages! His capacity to do good was far greater than that of a mere child. Let alone a child of your race!" The hate in her tone was weak, despite her best efforts.

"Let me ask you something." said Thrall. "When a warrior of any race sacrifices his life that his child might live on, would you remark on how he was a fool? That he should have realized he was more valuable than his son or daughter?"

"I…" Tyrande had no answer to that.

"Then perhaps in the future, you will stay your hand." said Thrall. 'It may be that in the eyes of whatever god or goddess you worship, that you worth less than those you slaughtered!"

And for the first time in thousands of years, Tyrande felt fear, not of the physical variety, but for her soul. She wondered now if her actions had been as just, her retribution as deserved as she had so thought. She remembered Illidan, sealed away for an eternity, and wondered how he fared. Chained in darkness until the night elves deigned to have need of him. She remembered the light fading from the eyes of a thousand enemies. She realized for the first time that they had been people. Not just short-lived animals. They had been just as alive and sentient as Tyrande, and her warriors.

She lowered her knife and looked at her hands. Perfectly smooth, without scars or sign of the hard labor she went about. She was immortal, unaging and eternal. She had watched the furbolgs evolve from bears into thinking, reasoning creatures. She would live on long after the races of humans and orcs had passed beyond memory. How quickly had she acted to purge the furbolgs? Was there a way to bring the to sanity. It had never even occurred to her to try.

For the first time, she wondered if immortality might be a curse. She looked up at the Warchief before her, calm and tranquil. "I… I will reign in my sentinels. We will no longer slay noncombatants or… or slay children."

"Well I guess that's something." said Thrall with a sarcastic nod of his head, before turning to leave.

"You are still my enemy tomorrow." said Tyrande, regaining control of herself.

Thrall glanced back in contempt. "You are still my enemy tonight. But even enemies can show respect." Then he made his way out of the tent. Tyrande followed after him and saw that the whole of the camp was now becoming aware of him.

Arrows were trailed upon him, and he stopped, before looking to Tyrande.

"Shall I give the order, Priestess?" asked Shandris.

"No." said Tyrande. "Let him go. He came to speak."

"But-"

"Do it." said Tyrande.

Thrall disappeared into the trees, as Malfurion came rushing up from the trees. "Tyrande, are you alright?!"

"I am unharmed, my love." said Tyrande. "Shandris, order the sentinels to focus their attention on the demons. They are not to do battle with the humans or orcs unless forced. When victorious over them, they are to let the outlanders escape. No killing without need."

"There is a change over you, Tyrande." said Malfurion. 'What has happened? And who was that great power which was within the camp."

"Great power?" asked Tyrande.

"Yes," said Malfurion, "the forces of nature swirl around him like a cloak. I am surprised I did not sense his approach. Something must have hidden him from my sight, and those of all the druids here."

Tyrande looked up at the moon far above and knew who it was. "Elune guides many beyond just us, it seems."

The revelation brought her no comfort.

* * *

Thrall made his way back to the orcish outpost, riding his wolf swiftly. As he did so, he slowed to a slow pace and looked around. The darkness around him was very close, and no sign of anyone could be seen. "You are very good at concealing yourself, for a former paladin." he said at last.

Arthas Menethil emerged from the trees, sword in hand. "And you are perceptive for an orc."

The two began to make their way side by side through the paths, neither one speaking. At last, Thrall looked to him. "Well, what purpose do you have by this appearance?"

"I have been hunting demons these past weeks." said Arthas. "And I have succeeded in infuriating them. They have pursued me with a very large force. They also mean to bring the Alliance and Horde to battle."

"So are you seeking shelter with us? Or warning us of the army you brought down upon us?" asked Thrall, curious.

"Neither," said Arthas, "I'm leading the demons into a trap. I will destroy their entire army by my own means. However, I will need someone for the demons to blame for the disaster."

"I thought you had broken with them." said Thrall.

"I have." said Arthas. "However many of my subjects remain in their army by compulsion. I want Archimonde to think it the work of the Alliance and Horde."

"So," said Thrall, "you mean to use the undead against him."

"Yes," said Arthas, "and without the Alliance and Horde, the deception will only work once."

"Why are you approaching me over this?" asked Thrall. "Surely Lady Proudmoore would be more receptive to your plans."

"It's possible," admitted Arthas, "but then she would have to explain it to her lieutenants. It would undermine her credibility, and make her look easily manipulated.

"If on the other hand, you were to request she help your forces destroy an army of doomguards? If by happy coincidence, the undead turned on their masters at the same time? The result would increase faith in the alliance she engineered. It would seem almost divine providence."

"You are trying to avoid her, aren't you?" asked Thrall, guessing his allies mind.

"Yes," admitted Arthas, "I regard our eventual meeting with some dread."

"She still mourns your loss." said Thrall.

"Please don't bring up nostalgia," said Arthas, contempt in his tone, "the old days are never coming back. Things are changed forever." He looked at the sword in his hand, then sheathed it. "My regrets don't change what I have done. Do you have any further questions, or may I depart?"

"Only one," said Thrall, eyeing him as one hand fell to his hammer, "that sword you bear radiates the terror and suffering of those you have killed. When will you release them?"

Arthas remained silent. "When Archimonde is dead, or when all hope is lost."

Then he faded into the darkness.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Chapter six has been split in two in order to make them a more manageable word count. I always hate it when chapters just drag on and on. And there were basically two plotlines in that one chapter.

Enjoy.


	7. Doomguard's Fall

**Chapter Seven: Doomguard's Fall**

The Alliance and Horde armies were assembled, side by side. Much of their forces had been mustered for this effort, and many of the men were afraid. Jaina for her part was annoyed. She was all but done being heartbroken at this point. There was no point as Arthas was already back on the side of good. Her problem was that he hadn't approached her.

Thrall had been forthcoming on the matter. He'd explained the wayward Prince of Lordaeron reasoning flat out. Nut that didn't change the feeling that he didn't trust her. She loved him, still did despite everything, and the fact that he was avoiding her made her feel insulted.

"Are you sure he'll be able to do what he says, Thrall?" asked Grom.

"If he can't," reflected Thrall, "then we'll just have to kill the enemy army on our own."

"Wonderful," said Jaina, "well you'd better hope we win then. Because if we have another defeat like last time we're out of the war." She looked to where their forces were massed. The right flank was to a great stone cliff, while their left was protected by underbrush.

"Here they come." said Thrall.

The doomguards came marching forward in great ranks, and with them came a great host of undead. They had no formation, and moved forward in a march. They numbered in the thousands, and still more were coming. Abominations and ghouls snarled in fury as hellhounds bounded forward. They strained against their chains as the doomguards leader stepped forward. With them was a dreadlord with pale skin and black eyes. At their head was a massive doomguard, wielding a terrible curved sword.

"That's Lord Kazzak." said Grom, tone eager.

"Who?" asked Jaina.

"Near the end of First War, Gul'dan summoned the powers of the Burning Legion. The Doomguards he brought into the world were led by a demon lord named Lord Kazzak." said Grom. "He is truly terrible. I hope the death knight does not prove true to his word, for I would relish the chance to face him in battle."

"This is the end for your world, mortal!" cried Kazzak. "Lord Archimond has commanded that your kind be exterminated!" He raised his sword. "Charge! For the Legion!"

All of a sudden a change came over the undead as the doomguards rushed ahead. A terrible presence, different from the demons made itself known. The doomguards looked up in confusion. Upon the cliffside stood Arthas Menethil, framed against the rising sun. He raised Frostmourne as Kazzak looked up.

"Attack, warriors of the scourge! Leave none alive!"

The undead fell upon the demons like ravenous wolves, and the doomguards had no time to reorder. Hellhounds and ghouls tore at each other. Infernals rained down from the sky. Not against the Alliance and Horde, but against their former slaves. Doomguards battled back and forth with the abominations. Nerubians shot their projectiles at them. Kazzak felled three abominations with one stroke, but more came to replace them. Many more of these died.

For a few terrible minutes the carnage raised with neither side the victor. Then the necromancers came up behind, and brought back the dead as skeletons. The newly created undead tipped the balance against the demons, and soon the tide turned. The demons leader got a small force together. By discipline and fury hacked and slashed his way through the ranks of the dead. leaving a trail of carnage behind him. He struck down a group of necromancers, then fled into the woods. The undead pursued them, but at some unspoken direction instead faded into the woods.

"…Lady Jaina,' said a soldier, "would you mind telling us whats going on? Why would the mad Prince Arthas aid us?"

"I leave the answer to that question to your imagination." said Jaina, still annoyed. She looked up to the cliff, but Arthas was gone.

Thousands of doomguards had died upon the field of battle that day. Thousand of hellhounds had joined them. The Burning Legion's total casualties now numbered in the millions . The number had not happened on a single day, or due to just to a series of catastrophic defeats. Rather the natives of this world had whittled away at the Legions numbers little by little. They had abandoned long-held grudges to face their common enemy. They had forced them to commit more and more demons to the effort. The reason behind this terrible casualty rate was clear.

Mercy.

"It is ironic." said Archimonde. "That which we have long ago dismissed as nothing more than a weakness frustrates us so. The armies the scourge left intact in Lordaeron have trained new armies. They have and rallied support to oppose our invasion."

"It does seem that the death knight has done his worst damage to the Legion before he ever left our service." reflected Kil'jaden over the connection. "It is rather impressive actually."

"Then you believe Ner'zhul was telling the truth." surmised Archimonde thoughtfully.

"I don't believe he had either the courage or blind recklessness to try and conspire against us, no." said Kil'jaden. "For all his pretensions to godhood, he was, and remained a coward to the end." There was silence, as Archimonde looked to his assembled forces. "Something is troubling you. You are having doubts."

"You remain perceptive, Kil'jaden." said Archimonde. "The death knight has defied my expectations. At first, it appeared as if he would conform perfectly to Mal'ganis' profile of him. However, he went out of his way to avoid causing needless destruction. And then when our plans moved on without him, he targeted Mannaroth.

"I cannot conceive of why he would do that. He must have known that he would likely only get one chance. It was Tichondrius he hated. Mannaroth had caused his enemies to fall on each other like wolves."

"A more interesting question," said Kil'jaden, "is how he knew where Mannaroth was. The Pit Lord arranged things so that only Tichondrius was aware of his location. He would not have shared such knowledge with the Death Knight."

"He must have had help," decided Archimonde, "some force is working against us beyond sight. The Red Dragon Flight, perhaps?"

"No," said Kil'jaden, 'the Red Dragon Flight has done nothing to oppose us recently. They will not start now."

"They should have acted by now." said Archimonde. "Even Alexstranza must realize the folly of being a guardian without a world to protect."

"Do I detect a great level of contempt than usual in your tone?" asked Kil'jaden in wry amusement.

"It is one thing for us to abandon unworthy minions to their fate." said Archimonde. "Our ultimate goal is the annihilation of all life. Once one proves they are incapable of aiding that mission there is no reason to keep them alive. Yet the dragonflights claim to be guardians and protectors. Thus far they have done nothing but sit and watch as those they profess to love are slaughtered.

"Their hypocrisy is distasteful." He paused, feeling as if what he said was not enough. "Whatever these recent events are... troubling. Gentleness and compassion are the opposite of everything the Legion stands for. Yet they have almost proven worthy adversaries to malice and cunning."

"I think you overestimate the role mercy played in any of this." said Kil'jaden. "There is a far simpler explanation: The Death Knight lives for revenge. He abandoned his homeland and betrayed everything he had held dear to slay Mal'ganis. Why should he change just because he switched sides?

"Spite, not love, is the greatest force in the universe. The desire to do others harm even when it is of no benefit to you, even harmful, is a terrible power. He must have guessed that we would dispose of him once he was no longer needed. Just as Ner'zhul had Mal'ganis killed, and spared those he cast aside to inconvenience us."

"We passed command to Tichondrius and thought him of no further note." continued Archimonde. "He chose to attack Mannaroth to throw off the yolk of the Lich King. He is now a free agent, devoid of a master to betray. I am beginning to see.

"Now the only question that remains is what his next target will be."

"In that regard," said Kil'jaden, "I should attempt to think of things from his perspective."

Archimond considered the matter. Who among the Legion would the death knight hate most? "Tichondrius, he is going to target Tichondrius the first chance he gets."

"Are you certain?" asked Kil'jaden.

"He chafed under the Dreadlord's Leadership." said Archimonde. "I could tell that he wanted to kill him when I passed command to Tichondrius. He restrained himself in my presence, but I think that has been trying to humiliate the Dreadlord in my eyes. He is succeeding. I've lost track of how many times I've had to call reinforcements."

"The legion numbers in the millions, and we do not pay much heed to casualties." admitted Kil'jaden. "Yet the kind of losses we had suffered in the past few months are significant. Not every demon was a combatant, ready for battle. At this stage, we'll have to delay the invasions of several worlds by years.

"Irritating, very irritating indeed."

At that moment, the Queen of Suffering, Kirrasan appeared behind Archimond and bowed. "I have to go Kil'jaden, I need to take this. Farewell."

"Good luck," said Kil'jaden, "I don't expect you'll need it."

The mental connection was ended, and Archimond took a deep breath. 'What have you to report, Kirrasan?' he asked, not turning around. 'Why is Kalimdor united against us?'

"Tichondrius reported to you that it was still a war-torn land. One with no serious threats beyond the night elves, my lord." said Kirrasan, her distaste for the dreadlord evident. "What he neglected to realize was why they were not a threat. The creatures of this miserable continent spend all their time fighting each other. Ideally, when the orcish exodus came here, they ought to have slaughtered most of them with ease.

"However, that strapping young warchief, Thrall went out of his way to avoid wiping them out. An incomprehensible decision, but it seems to have worked out for him. You see, dear Jaina, that's the leader of the humans, didn't fight any of the locals. She negotiated her way past them. She established alliances and using them against the orcs in their wars.

"When the Horde and the Alliance joined forces, Jaina and Thrall's allies all made a truce. The creatures of Kalimdor have all focused their attention on their mutual enemy, us.

"It's quite romantic if you think about it."

Archimonde glanced back, eyes narrowing as he tried to figure out just what made these women tick. It was beyond even his comprehension. "Can you break them apart?"

"Well I would, but I don't think Jaina and Thrall have gotten together yet. She's still pining after her lost love the Death Knight. I suppose I could engineer her looking to Thrall for comfort. Then convince one or both of them to turn murderous.

"Actually that sounds like-"

"I believe we're losing focus Kirrasan." said Archimonde, resisting the urge to face palm.

"Oh," said Kirrasan, realization dawning, "right you meant the Barrens Alliance. Right, yeah, give me a month, and I'll have them tearing each other apart. I knew these orders were too good to be true."

"Look around you, fool!" snapped Archimonde, losing patience. "We are on the verge of victory anyway. The issue is that our casualties are too high. It must change."

"Well I'm terribly sorry,' said Kirrasan, "but infiltrating a society takes time. You gave the dreadlords fifteen years to plan the downfall of one faction. Now you want me to plan the downfall of many in less than a month? Really, the solution to your problem is so obvious you must, in your great wisdom, be just testing me."

Only Kirrasan could get away with this kind of stunt. She had engineered succubus society so that if she were to die, the entire race would fall into disunity. The momentary satisfaction Archimonde would be repaid with years of work. It would put the legions agenda on hold for centuries. "Just tell me your thoughts, women."

"Call off the attacks." said Kirrasan with a shrug. "Stop trying to gain more ground. This whole war is largely pointless. Put our forces in defensive positions, take the World Tree and get it over with. Unless I'm mistaken, we aren't looking to corrupt any more races in this world. So we stand nothing to gain by keeping up the pressure."

Archimonde considered the question. He reflected that there were certain races which might be worth corrupting. Yet he had no time in which to do it, and no worthy champions among them to take their place as leader.

Suddenly Archimonde sensed defiance course through the scourge. The death knight had turned an army against its demon masters and had taken Kazzak by surprise. Within mere minutes the doomguards forces were wiped out. Though he himself escaped by a narrow margin. It was the worst defeat in weeks, and Archimonde knew exactly who to blame.

Yet he had other concerns, for it seemed that the rebellion raised in one place had spread elsewhere. As one across the world, the scourge looked to their demon masters with hatred and moved to fall upon them.

Archimonde put a mere fraction of his willpower against them. All such thoughts fell from their mind.

Had he not done so, he might have lost the entire expedition and had to call even more forces up. For now, he mentally opened up a series of portals. Many more doomguards and hellhounds spilled out, ready for battle. He brought in more than twice as many as had fallen with Kazzak.

"Is something wrong, Lord Archimonde?" asked Kirrasan with wide eyes. "I'd hate to think that my meeting with you has turned your attention away from your busy schedule." The sarcasm in her tone had Archimonde contemplating how her head would look on a pike.

He grabbed Kirrasan by the throat and lifted her into the air. All he had to do was squeeze. Yet he succubus remained still within his grasp, unafraid.

"Go ahead," she said with a smile, "add one more disaster to this extravagant waste of time. Kill me; I'm just eye candy. My power pales in comparison to your own. My race is nothing more than a species of scantily clad broads. One whose only purpose is to amuse the relevant powers. We have no officers in positions of command, and nobody ever takes us seriously.

"And because nobody takes us seriously my succubi are in a thousand demonic courts. Unguarded, near at hand. How many glorified consorts will suddenly assassinate their masters when I die? How many of your officers do you think I will kill in my death throes? How many warlocks will suddenly find their pets cutting their throats in their sleep?

"It will make whats happened here pale in comparison."

Archimonde felt anger course through him. No one spoke to him in this manner! No one threatened him like this! More than anything he wanted to destroy her. To obliterate her from existence, to hear her dying scream. And yet he realized that to do so would echo across a thousand worlds. Kil'jaden had forbidden him from killing her. While Archimonde was not his subordinate, he knew his reasons.

The two Eredar had tried to stop the succubi from gaining this kind of widespread influence. Yet it had happened anyway. The pride and lust of their subordinates had allowed the succubi to gain positions. Only the Nathrezim had remained uncorrupted. Mostly thanks to their complete lack of interest in sex.

Archimonde set her down. "There will come a day, Kirrasan, when you are not protected by your minions."

"Of course, Lord Archimonde." she said with a bow. "I shall leave you to your masterly inactivity. Do call me when you take leisurely walk to the world tree, and stop wasting everyone's time." There was an edge in her tone as she departed in a haze of violet light.

Now Archimonde remembered why he never utilized Kirrasan. She wasn't afraid to die. The succubus hadn't just been composed in the face of death. She was perfectly content to die. Archimonde had become so used to being treated as a god, unquestionable, unassailable. To have to interact with someone who didn't take him seriously was… disturbing to say the least.

And yet he would admit, only to himself, that she had a point. The swiftest way to avert the casualties of his warriors was to take a direct hand. To unleash his full power and lay to waste the last resistance. Then absorb the energies of the World Tree. And yet he realized he was not going to do it.

His subordinates were mean to be stronger than the mortals they faced. They had been infused with the dark magic of the twisting nether for that very purpose. They had allowed themselves to be defeated. So they were deserving of the suffering that came with it. When this was over, the Legion would be knocked out of its complacency at least.

Yet… he did not want all this carnage among his soldiers to be a complete waste. He had poured a great many resources into this invasion. He would prefer to get something for his trouble beyond the satyrs. Thus the beginnings of a plan formed in his mind. One that might well gain him a powerful new race. And eliminate the problem of Kirrasan. And without any of the unfortunate consequences which came with it.

"Lord Archimonde," said Tichondrius, "I regret to inform you that Kazzak has failed you. His forces were ambushed, and Anetheron lost control of his undead. I have brought them." His tone was respectful, almost smug.

Something about his tone infuriated Archimond. Ah Tichondrius, always quick to take credit when victory was won. And never at fault when defeat was rendered to those he commanded. Archimonde felt a surge of contempt for his old subordinate. He mastered it and turned to face Kazzak, who was kneeling stern-faced. Anetheron was also there, and Tichondrius stood some ways away. He looked far too nonchalant for his own good.

Kazzak was terrified. But he wasn't showing it. "I have failed you, Lord Archimonde." said Kazzak. "I offer my life in penance."

Not so much as a plea of mercy? Archimonde raised one hand, and Kazzak remained ready to die. "The penalty for failure is death, Lord Kazzak." said Archimonde. "Yet the failure belongs to the dreadlords. Not you."

All eyes turned to the red-clad demon, who did not seem so composed now. "Lord Archimonde I-"

"You assured me that the situation was in hand." said Archimonde. 'That Ner'zhul would not dare undermine our efforts. You were wrong, and I was forced to take a direct hand in matters to correct your mistake. Then when I assigned you to hunt down the death knight, you delegated authority to Kazzak. And his efforts were foiled by your continued inability to keep control of the undead.

"What say you, dread lord?"

"Please, Lord Archimond,' said Tichondrius, falling to one knee and shaking. "I will seek out the death knight and slay him personally-"

"No, you will not." said Archimonde. "Because he will come to you." Tichondrius looked up, uncomprehending. Archimond sighed. "The death knight hates you, Tichondrius. That much is certain, he holds you in contempt because I gave you command over his scourge. And perhaps I was in error to do so. You will go to fel wood, and you will continue the corruption of those lands.

"When the death knight moves against you, you will capture him alive, and bring him to me. He has begun to vex me greatly, but he may yet be of some use to us. I would speak with him before the end of his world."

"I shall not fail you again, Lord Archimonde." said Tichondrius, keeping his tone composed.

"See that you do not." replied Archimonde. "Kazzak, Anetheron, you are to take your forces and begin consolidating our ground. Our enemies will be of small relevance once reinforcements arrive."

His subordinates departed his presence. Archimonde took a moment to reflect on the matter. Why was it that he so hesitated to slay Tichondrius? The dreadlord had been his right hand for many years, it was true. However, that did not matter. Archimonde had long since seen through the illusions of comradeship and affection. No, he was merely using Tichondrius now because the Dreadlord was of more use alive than dead.

Archimonde turned his attention to other matters. To his satisfaction, the reinforcements had arrived without issue.

They numbered more than twice as many as had been lost in the battles for Ashenvale. While the mortal races weakened, the Legion remained strong. This world was doomed. Yet humanity had proved to be an amusing opposition indeed. Perhaps something could be made of them yet…

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

Okay so this chapter is my own creation. There are several reasons for this, the most obvious of which is to give the demonic invasion a bit of screen time. That's my problem with Warcraft III. For a story about a demonic invasion, there is not a lot of demonic invading going on.

The night elf campaign is pitifully short, and you spend most of it fighting the good guys. You go to all the trouble of gathering the Druids and then rush straight to the final battle. To be honest, I found the conclusion to the story anticlimactic. You barely ever engage the Burning Legion.

My reaction upon reaching the Final Mission was not 'oh wow, this is going to be awesome.' It wasn't 'everything has led to this point.' It was 'wait, that's it? What about the war?' I felt like I'd skipped a few chapters in a book, and was rushing to the finale without any context.


	8. The Strands of Fate

**Chapter Eight: The Strands of Fate**

Maive Shadowsong looked down from the treetops upon a group of satyrs. They made their way through the trees with what passed for stealth amongst them. She had no idea where they were going, or what they were doing here. They looked to be drinking wine, and talking and laughing amongst one another. She doubted they would be seeking battle any time soon. However, she had no doubt that they had evil intentions at heart. It was in the nature of such creatures to brutalize the innocent.

The current generation of satyrs had been born that way, rather than corrupted. Their guilt was in their parentage, their wickedness in their hearts. It could not be removed.

The watcher descended quietly behind one, and cut his throat, before letting him fall to the earth. As the others turned to face her, she slashed the head from the second, and hurled a knife into the third. By the time the fourth saw her, he was already dead. The fifth dropped his weapons and fell back.

"No, please... mercy! I beg of you, mercy!"

Maive paused, realizing that the request was unusual. She considered it only for a moment. This creature was not a threat now, but if allowed to live might become one. By now he was fleeing blindly through the woods, and Maive reflected that she should not let him escape. Best not to take any chances. His entire race was guilty, and deserved death in any case.

She hurled a knife and it passed through the back of his head, killing him before he could realize he'd been hit. That was the only mercy he would receive.

* * *

As Arthas journeyed through the trees of Ashenvale he came across a village of night elves. They were mustering for war. He soon saw why.

A host of undead swarmed towards them under the leadership of a lesser Dreadlord. Arthas spurred Invincible forward at breakneck pace, past the ancients. The night elves turned and loosed arrows at him, but he deflected them with Frostmourne with ease. One of them shot over his shoulder, and plunged into an archer, who fell backwards. Raising Frostmourne, he summoned to him the light. The arrow removed itself as her wound was healed. It was not as it had once been. The light he wielded was paler, weaker, and far less powerful than it had been when he first took up Frostmourne. Even so passing her by Arthas leaped clean over their lines of war. The Dreadlord saw him coming, and in his eyes was fear.

So word had spread of Arthas actions.

A wave of dark energy surged from the dreadlord, which engulfed Arthas in full. The pain of the magic coursing against him was bad, but he had felt far worse. As he emerged, he landed before the Dreadlord and swung his sword. With one blow of Frostmourne, the demons head was removed, and its body fell to the ground.

The undead looked at him, and Arthas raised Frostmourne before them. "Go back." he said. "Return to your masters."

"Lord Arthas," said a cultist. "Ner'zhul is dead, and all hope is lost. We must destroy this village if we are to avoid the demon's wrath."

"Not all hope is lost." said Arthas, "The Lich King yet lives, and events proceed according to his grand design." There were murmurs of hope, yet it was doubtful.

"How can that be?" asked the cultist. "The Frozen Throne is no more?"

"The Lich King is a god," said Arthas, "he cannot be contained by ice. The time of his triumph is near, but for that time to come you must do as I say."

"Yet if we return in failure," said the cultist "we will surely die."

"Very well,' said Arthas, "you will split this army up, and find contingents of demons who have undead with them. You will join them, claiming rightly that your army was shattered. You will then spread word amongst the necromancers and acolytes. Tell them and all the scourge that the Lich King's will is already in motion.

"Tell them to await my word."

"Yet… yet some amongst us have turned to the demons side." said the cultist. "They may well alert the demons to what is happening." His voice was afraid.

Feeling a surge of sympathy, Arthas dismounted and took him by the shoulder with one hand. The necromancers eyes widened. "They may find you, persecute you, and slay you. It is possible, even likely. Yet the message must be spread, lest all things end. I am asking a great deal of you. The choice is yours."

The necromancer remained silent for a long moment, and all eyes were upon him. Finally, he fell to one knee. "I will serve the Lich Kings will."

"Good," said Arthas, "now be gone from here. These elves are not subjects of the Lich King, but they will serve a purpose before the end. Now go, do as I have told you."

The undead departed that place without fighting. Arthas sheathed his sword before scaling onto Invincible. He felt a sense of guilt for deceiving those who had been his subjects. But it was better than they should die fighting the Legion, then be wiped out like animals. Archimonde would not need them forever. Invincible bristled, and he petted the creatures mane.

He made his way onwards into the woods, but not before one final backward glance. He saw the night elf village unharmed. Cheers came from them as they heard the undead were fleeing. Arthas smiled, then rode away.

As he did so, however, he heard fighting through the trees. Making his way towards the sound, he found the bodies of several orcs and human lying dead on the ground. Their throats had been cut, and one had been pierced through the breastplate by a knife. Further on he found another hanging from the trees by a cord, as a crow pecked at the warriors eyes. Shooing it away, Arthas cut the cord and let it fall to the ground.

Pressing onwards still further he found a figure. She was clad in steel armor and a helm that concealed her face standing over the bodies of half a dozen men. In her had was a long glaive, and she looked up at him with piercing eyes.

"Foul demon tainted wretch," she said, "you and your kind will pay dearly for your intrusion into these lands."

"Well as far as self righteous speeches go, it's refreshingly concise." reflected Arthas, before unsheathing Frostmourne. It was nearly the end of him to do so, however, as a knife shot through the air towards his chest. In the process of dodging he slipped out of the saddle to land on his feet, and drew out his sword.

She was on him in moments, surging forward with a series of strikes. Arthas defended against her feral assault. He used quick footwork to move aside from her attacks. Leaping back, she spun round and hurled three blades which he narrowly deflected. He pointed Frostmourne at her.

Death magic surged from his blade towards her, and she surged to meet it. Blackness consumed her for a moment, and then she rushed out of it, her blade glinting in the moonlight. Their weapons met, again and again, sparks flying on the wind from their combat. Finally, Arthas turned her blade and slammed one shoulder into her. That sent her falling to the ground. Before she could move he put forth his sword and set it to her throat. There was silence as she looked up in defiance.

"Well, finish it then creature." she snapped. "I am not afraid to die."

"This is pointless." said Arthas as he removed his sword. "While we battle one another our enemies close in around us." As he stepped back, she drew up her glaive, and their weapons clash. For a moment their blades remained locked.

"I sense the taint of unholy magic upon you." said the elf. "You are part of the Legion. Why would you pass up a chance to slay me?'

"The fact that you think that demonstrates just how little you understand." reflected Arthas. "Yes, I once served the Legion. However, I am now working to stop them. As are the orcs and human you butchered here."

"Why should I listen to anything you have to say, creature?" asked the elf.

"Because you have no idea what is going on." said Arthas. "You have no idea who your enemies are and what they have come here to do. That is a rather severe weakness. My name is Arthas, and I have an offer for you.

"I will put down my sword, and you will put down your glaive, we will tell each other our names, and then I will tell you my story."

"Why should I care?" she asked.

"Because my story is the story of this invasion." said Arthas. "And by hearing it, you will learn how it was that Archimonde came to walk this world. How the orcs came to Ashenvale, and why all these events are taking place here and now.

"If nothing else, it should give you some context."

"And why would you tell me this?" she asked. "What do you gain from it?"

"I have been traveling alone for many weeks hunting demons." admitted Arthas. "Even I desire social contact from time.'

There was a long silence. Finally, the elf stepped back and lowered her weapon. "I am Maiev Shadowsong. Speak, and I will listen."

"Very well then," said Arthas, "you may wish to sit down. This may take awhile." Somewhat reluctantly they did so, sitting crosslegged across from each other. "I suppose the best part to begin the tale is not with the Legion, but with the arrival of the orcs. Or rather, the arrival of their victims in my Fathers Kingdom of Lordaeron…"

* * *

The tale was indeed a long one, though it was a mere blink of an eye to the endless years Maiev had lived. The only reason she observed it at all was because she had seen him redirect the undead away from the village. She knew him to be in conflict with the Legion. She fully intended to slay him once she had heard everything he had to tell her.

Despite herself, she was impressed. More had happened in this humans lifespan than had occurred in hundreds of years before him. He told the tale well, leaving out few details and Maiev did not ask questions. She listened to each word, analyzing how likely he was to be deceiving her. As she listened, she realized that she knew little about the world beyond Kalimdor. Not as it was now.

The night elves had retreated into their forests. The era of their dominance was long since past. Entire races had sprung up among the eastern kingdoms, and they had not noticed. She almost did not believe it. Yet she was able to determine that he was not altogether lying. For the outlanders knew little of her people's history. There was no way he could have known to describe a sister race to the night elves.

It became apparent that this human was a great Prince among his people, rather than an ordinary warrior. Moreover, the orcs had come to this world as pawns of the Burning Legion. They were meant to annihilate all resistance. They had caused great suffering to the human. But as they wielded arcane magic Maive was not inclined to care. Yet when the humans had defeated them they spared them. It was a decision that Maiev could not comprehend.

At first, the Prince seemed almost insignificant in his own story. Maiev realized that it was because he had been a child around halfway through. Humans must have been very short-lived indeed. Then he gradually came into his own. He described the failure of the Alliance, as one by one Lordaeron's allies turned upon it. They repaid its aid with apathy.

The plague seemed almost karmic. The humans had forced the land to yield them food, become fat and lazy, and as a result, the demons had used it against them. She any sympathy as the Prince described the turning of his people into undead.

The destruction of Stratholme made perfect sense. She didn't understand why the Prince's subordinates had seen anything wrong with it. Likewise, the decision to pursue Mal'ganis to the continent of Northrend was reasonable. The burning of the ships was necessary. The King had proven himself incapable of dealing with his nation's problems. Slaying the demon responsible was the priority.

It was only once Maiev heard of the claiming of Frostmourne that she began to have doubts. Then when the Prince killed his Father, it dawned upon her that this had been the demons plan all along. It disturbed her greatly. Not because of how he had cast aside his friends, but because she had found herself identifying with him. And it crossed her mind that she might have done the same.

His tone was cold and matter of fact as he described his crusade against his people. His will bound by their very enemy. Anger coursed through her, as she felt hatred for this butcher who would slay his kind. At the same time, the same mercy shown to the orcs before reappeared. She felt relief that not all were being destroyed. Maive had to keep reminding herself that these were her enemies. Wielders of arcane magic, and fellers of trees that deserved death.

It was only once Uther died that she realized she had become invested in his story, in those who it was about. The Prince had told it well, drawing her interest. He had introduced her to the strange world he described and then forcing her to listen as they were slain one by one. She listened of the humiliation of the highborn with particular interest. For cutting them off from their vaunted power in many ways seemed karmic. She noted that he paid special attention to his enemy, Sylvanas Windrunner. Yet she just fell out of the tale when he chose not to pursue her.

At the decimation of the Blackrock Clan, Maive felt some satisfaction. They were but beasts, creatures deserving of death. It was when Archimonde made his appearance that Maiev began to realize where this was going.

Horror dawned upon her as he described his taking of Dalaran because she knew what was coming. His description of Archimonde's summoning focused on the Alliance's efforts to stop it. their blind courage. And though she knew what had happened, what would happen, she could not help but hope they would succeed.

Archimonde was summoned.

But not all hope was lost of the Alliance.

"Enough!" she broke in. "It is enough to know that you are responsible for this!" If any of it was true, of course.

"It is not." said Arthas. "Because I have not yet explained where the orcs came from. They killed Cenarius, so it would be well if you knew how they came to be in Ashenvale."

Maiev realized the information was important. "Finish quickly."

He continued, and she listened to the account of the Warchief. She heard of the battles between orcs and humans, and Hellscream being sent to cut lumber. That was it? Cenarius had been slain by the orcs because their leader wanted an unruly subordinate out of the way?

Once again, it had been the demons plan. Yet Arthas, the Prince, had worked against them. He had tried to stop another from falling into the demon's clutches. It was absurd, those who fell into darkness deserved no mercy! It had always been that way!

Ultimately the Prince slew Mannaroth, and freed the orcs from their bondage. The Alliance and Horde then united against their common enemy, which brought up to speed.

"Well," said Arthas, "my tale is done. I leave you to make your own judgments." He stood up and picked up Frostmourne, before summoning his skeletal horse to him.

Maiev stood up, blade in hand, words of judgment on her lips. And yet they wouldn't come. Because suddenly she realized that she had agreed with him. At every step of the fall of Lordaeron, Maive had been of the opinion that he was doing the proper course of action. And his destruction of the human nation. Wasn't that just the logical extension of the night elves ideology?

"You think you can just do that, and just leave?" she asked.

"I can't afford to die." said Arthas. "Not until Archimond is waiting for me in the next life."

Nothing made sense anymore. His story had taken her preconceived notions of right and wrong and tore them apart. If it had been a druid slaughtering their way through Lordaeron, Maive would not have cared. For the first time in her life, Maiev had no idea what to think.

It occurred to her that this might be some elaborate plan to corrupt her, but that was absurd!

"…Damn you for making me do this." she said at last. "Get out of my sight you wretch! Leave, before I regain my senses and finish you!"

"As you wish." The Prince bowed his head, before mounting his horse and riding away into the darkness. Maiev watched him leave with a bitter taste in her mouth. All she had left was pragmatism as a guiding principle. And an enemy of the Legion of his power would be a formidable ally. Then she looked to the body of a nearby human and wondered what his name was. Suddenly she felt guilt.

Maiev shoved it away and made her way back elsewhere.

* * *

Guided by some unspoken sense, Arthas made his way through the trees. He went at a slow pace, content to admire nature. Corrupted or otherwise.

Then the Prophet reappeared. He made no grand entrance. Instead, he was merely standing in the path. Much as he had been when Arthas had seen him on his way to Stratholme almost a year ago. Arthas reigned in his horse and looked at him expectantly.

"Well?" he asked. "What is it now?" He tried to keep the hostility out of his tone.

"That was well played, young Prince." said the Prophet after a moment. "Maive Shadowsong is a very cunning warrior and an asset to her people. However, she is actually thinking for the first time in her life. The strands of fate are changing for the better."

"That's reassuring." said Arthas, feeling colder than ever. "Which brings me to your complete inability to do anything right."

"You give me too much credit." reflected the Prophet. "Did you know that there is a possible timeline where everything in this war went perfectly? Grom Hellscream never attacked the Alliance. They united against the demons without a shot fired against one another. You still killed Mannaroth. The night elves joined with them. With the aid of Cenarius, they have cost the Legion terrible casualties for little loss."

"Yes," said Arthas, "but Grom did attack the Alliance, so its all the moot point."

"Exactly," said the Prophet, "you see there is fate. But destiny is more of a guideline than an actual rule. Grom Hellscream chose to attack the Alliance, and he alone could make that choice. The best I could do is try and put him in a situation where he would not have to make it. Do you understand?"

Arthas spurred his horse forward and the Prophet walked alongside him. "I think I am beginning to. You have a general plan for all this, which will defeat the legion. But the details of the plan is up to us."

"Precisely," said the Prophet, "I've read the fates. I've seen timelines where you slaughtered your way throughout Lordaeron without mercy. Where Thrall butchered every human village, he came across. It is very fortunate for the world that those did not come to pass."

The trees were changing, to become more warped and twisted. Less and less light was let down through the trees, and the Prophet tapped his staff. A light appeared upon its tip, illuminating the path ahead as they pressed forward. Arthas considered what to say next.

"Is there a world with the Red Dragonflight destroyed the plagued grain caravans?' asked Arthas in annoyance.

"Actually no." said the Prophet. "Or at least it would be a world so different from our own that they would hardly be the same flight.'

"Why not?" asked Arthas. "Do you have any idea how much death could have been avoided?"

"Yes," said the Prophet, "but it would have saved the Legion as well. The Red Dragon Flight was among those who made this plan. Without the fall of Lordaeron, Archimond never would have been summoned. This whole war is a great trap for him, and Lordaeron was the bait. Things are progressing as planned but in an altered fashion. The risk is now greater, but so is the reward."

"Is this… Theramore place still doomed?" asked Arthas.

The Prophet closed his eyes for a moment, and breathed out, before opening them. "You have to understand, Theramore is… its position is very unstable. There are a great many interests which conspire to destroy it. In most timelines, it becomes a martyr. It leads others to succeed where Theramore failed."

"Is Theramore still doomed?" Arthas pressed him.

"…Yes," said the Prophet, "as things stand now it will last longer, and its enemies will pay a dear price for their victory. But it will burn. Yet that fate may yet be avoided."

Arthas fell silent, and for a time they were walking in total darkness, save for the light of the Prophet's staff. He glanced to the Prophet as they came into brighter areas. "Where are you leading us?"

"Leading you?" asked the prophet with a grin. "What makes you think I am leading you?"

"Just answer the question." snapped Arthas.

The Prophet sighed. "You were not meant to work openly against the Legion until after the death of Archimonde. Now that you are, however, we might as well take some steps to improve things. Do you remember those furbolgs the night elves slaughtered?"

"Yes," said Arthas, "their race has gone mad."

"They might yet be cured." said the prophet. "A powerful force of light might achieve what natures healing cannot."

"Well then you should look elsewhere." replied Arthas. "I might have recently regained some measure of my old paladin powers, but its a shadow of once I once held. There is no way I'll be able to use the light to purify an entire race."

"I wasn't suggesting you use the light to purify a race." said the Prophet. "I was suggesting you ask the light to do it for you."

Arthas met his eyes. "…And you actually think that will work?"

"I have no idea." admitted the Prophet. "The strands of fate get a bit unclear when miracles come into the picture. You see miracles exist outside the natural order. However these are dark times, and if ever there was a time for the light to work them it is now."

"Strange," reflected Arthas, "I could say exactly the same thing about you."

"Hmm?" said the Prophet.

"I understand why the Red Dragon Flight didn't do anything to stop the fall of Lordaeron." said Arthas. "But why haven't they done anything since? And why haven't you done anything since? I know that you are far more powerful than you let on."

The Prophet remained silent for a long moment. "The Red Dragon Flight hasn't involved itself because they are afraid, as are the other Flights. They are among the very few factions on this world that Archimonde regards as a threat. If they moved against the Legion now, they might do serious damage. Yet Archimonde would make his priority their annihilation. It might throw the whole plan off.

"There are still things they have to do in this world. Still matters they must attend to."

"And what about you?" asked Arthas, raising his eyebrows.

"…You are correct," said the Prophet, "my powers are considerable. However, if I took a direct hand, Archimonde might become aware of my presence. And if he did, it would only be a matter of time before he discovered my true identity.

"The moment that happened, Archimonde would realize something was amiss. He is no fool. And once he knew about me, he would start to piece things together. When realized that I want him where he is right now, there is no telling what he would do. Likely something similar to what he has done thus far. Only this time he'd get serious."

Arthas shuddered. "Good answer."

They emerged out into a glade, and Arthas found he recognized the place. As they scaled up a hill, he saw a fountain of blood red liquid, staining the land around it with blight. The glade was silent, and the skeleton of a furbolg could be seen, broken and hewn by a blade.

"This is…" began Arthas.

"The glade where Grom Hellscream was corrupted." said the Prophet. "This pool is more than a place of healing, it is also the place the first Furbolgs became sentient. When Mannaroth spilled his blood into the pool, he began the process. It has driven the Furbolgs to madness.

"Unless it is remedied, the curse will become irreversible."

"Wonderful," said Arthas as he dismounted, "so what do I do?"

"You are the Paladin," said the Prophet, "I'm merely a rambling doomsayer. Surely you know better than I."

Arthas moved to the pool and looked into it. As he did so, he saw his own reflected warped and changed into something terrible and wicked. He saw himself hacking down the innocent and defenseless with a sadistic grin on his face. He saw Sylvanas Windrunner, cornered in a glade. Saw Frostmourne fall and strike her down, and then watched as he raised her into undeath. He watched himself ascend a great frozen staircase and don a helm.

As shudder came to Arthas at what he might have become. He realized he had been very close indeed to becoming what stood before him now. Frostmourne gleamed in his hand as he lashed out and struck his reflection from the pool.

The view changed, this time to a view of him standing over the body of Mal'ganis, his hammer still in his grip. His expression was relieved but stern, and he walked back to meet with a still living Muradin. He and his men returned to Lordaeron and were welcomed home as heroes. He and Jaina were married in a grand ceremony.

This could have been him, had he only trusted in the light and faced Mal'ganis with it instead of Frostmourne.

Then he saw another world. One where a still living Mannaroth was slaughtering humanoid fish creatures. Blood ran in rivers, as whole worlds were consumed. The view showed him on his death bed, Jaina long since departed. He was very old, his hairs gray, and at his bed side was a blonde man who looked as he had when he was that age. Several others were there as well, a women, and several children.

His eyes closed, and it was lost from sight.

Arthas remained silent as the visions left him. Then he fell to a kneel and plunged Frostmourne into the pool. He channeled what light was available to him through its waters. For a moment the redness seemed disrupted as ripples went throughout the pond. Finally, he spoke: "Light, I am unworthy of your aid. I pray now not for myself, but for the innocents who will suffer and die if this place is not purified. Please, I need you to give me the strength needed…"

And the light came. It flowed through his arms, through Frostmourne. It pouring down into the water which began to ripple as the fell energy was burned away. Little by little it became clear and clean and the moon was reflected far above them. The blight surrounding the fountain faded away to healthy turf.

Arthas stood up, feeling exhausted.

Birds began to sing and return, and he felt an immense sense of peace wash over him. Then Frostmourne changed. Its steel was lighter in color, its appearance less foreboding. Its light no longer seemed so cold and vicious, and he looked at it in a new light. For it seemed to fit his hands now better than before. Looking up to the Prophet something occurred to him.

"Archimonde is very powerful, more powerful than anyone on this world, isn't he?" Arthas asked.

"Yes." said the Prophet.

"Then…" Arthas searched for the words, "then why doesn't he know all this? Why can't he see the strands of fate?"

"It is not a power that avails itself to those of prideful hearts." admitted the Prophet. "What you see in the threads of destiny is shaped by who you are. Archimonde is proud, set in his ways. He has long since closed his heart to the possibility that he might be wrong about anything. If he hadn't, he wouldn't be here doing the things he is.

"It takes a special kind of arrogance to want to try and destroy the world. But to proclaim that the universe itself is wrong for existing? That is pure vanity. If he were to look upon them, he would only see what he wanted to see. Since the primary value of seeing the future is to prepare for what is to come, it would prove quite useless to him."

"So…" Arthas paused, "he might have the power."

"Given how long he has lived," said the Prophet, "and how powerful he is, I find it unlikely that he didn't experiment. Regrettably, I cannot say for certain, since I am limited in my view of other worlds." The hooting of an owl drew his attention, and he looked up. "There are other matters which require my attention. Farewell."

They parted ways without any more words. Each went their own road.

* * *

Tichondrius was furious. He was enraged. And he was also terrified. He'd never expected a human to undermine his standing with Lord Archimonde. It was to the point where he was to be threatened by the great Eredar himself! And now he stood by the Skull of Gul'dan, channeling its energy to corrupt the surrounding lands. As he did, he resolved that he would not be undone by this… mortal.

He remembered Gul'dan well. The orc warlock had been even more insufferable than the death knight. At least Arthas had been smart enough to know he was the inferior. To limit himself to occasional dry wit. Gul'dan had preened and acted as if he was Tichondrius' equal, even his superior. The Master of the Shadow Council had been a very powerful Warlock.

Yet he could not escape death. No mortal could.

"Having fun are we?" came the question.

Tichondrius sensed her standing a few feet behind him, and turned round to see Kirrasan. Her hand on her hip. One of the lesser demon races would have found her sexually appealing. However, Tichondrius was a Dreadlord, a true demon. He had no interest in such matters beyond how they might benefit the cause.

"Kirrasan," he said, "I have no time for you."

"Oh that's a shame," she said, "I was so looking forward to rubbing salt in your wounds. How does it feel knowing that a mere mortal that you took for granted has been running circles around you? It must be a real kick in the teeth. After all, if you'd just told Archimonde, he was a problem none of this would have happened."

"Don't you have something better to do with your time?" asked Tichondrius. "I have work to do."

"Well, actually no.' she admitted. "Archmonde didn't give me an assignment as such once I completed my last one. I mean there is this one cute elf I've been working on corrupting, but that's another story entirely."

"Spare me," said Tichondrius, "and leave me be."

"I came to make you an offer." said Kirrasan "You might want to hear it out."

Tichondrius desired to tell her to leave, however, he saw no harm in hearing her out. And his present situation was not a good one. "Speak quickly then."

"The Death Knight, if Lord Archie is indeed correct," said Kirrasan, "will be coming after you next. This in itself would be bad enough, since he killed Manny and all that. But you have to take him alive."

"Lord Archie?" asked Tichondrius in horror. "Manny?! Might I suggest you refer to him by that name the next time you are called before him?"

Kirrasan laughed. "It would be amusing for a few seconds, but even if I don't fear death, I'd rather keep living. But my point is that Mannaroth could have killed you if you and him had fought. Which means the Death Knight could kill you if you fought one on one."

"I wasn't planning to fight him in single combat." replied Tichondrius.

"Even so," said Kirrasan, "it could happen. And if it does, I have something which could tip the scales in your favor." She removed from her bodice what appeared to be a large seed, and offered it to Tichondrius. "This should allow you to capture him with ease."

Tichondrius realized what it did, and his eyes widened. "…Lord Archimond ordered this species destroyed."

"Yes," she admitted, "but I kept around a few for cultivation, just in case."

"I should report you for this." said Tichondrius.

"My dear dreadlord." said Kirrasan in mock offense. "As part of my treaty with the Eredar, I am allowed to add members of any species we conquer to my collection of pets. That includes plants."

"And what do you ask for in return?" asked Tichondrius. "I assume your help has a price."

"Of course it does," she said, "when this world is conquered, I want the Lady Proudmoore."

"The human's leader?" asked Tichondrius. "Why?"

"She is physically appealing." said Kirrasan with a shrug. "And has a personality I'd enjoy breaking. Also, she and the death knight were going to end up together before Mal'ganis messed everything up. I believe it may give me some leverage over him when Arthas joins the legion."

"He has already betrayed us once." said Tichondrius. "Why would Lord Archimonde-"

"You know better." said Kirrasan. "Lord Archimond likes his subordinates to hate each other's guts. It means they try to surpass each other and get better results. He's also quite disappointed in how you all have mismanaged this invasion. I think he's also a little impressed with the Death Knight's species.

"I think he wants to add humans to the Legion."

"…Even if they would accept such a proposition," said Tichondrius, "what abilities do the humans have? They are short-lived and frail."

"They cooperate." said Kirrasan. "They have the capacity to work together to overcome great odds. To form alliances against a common foe, even with bitter enemies. These are traits which have allowed them to face the Legion time and again. In the Legions service, they could be very powerful indeed."

"Perhaps you are right." Tichondrius said. "Whatever the case, I… accept your offer, Kirrasan. I will send word that the sorceress should be captured, not killed, and when she is, I will have her sent to you. This is a risky gambit." He paused "This had best work."

"I assure you," said Kirrasan with a smile, "it will."

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

This chapter was a complete accident. I was having a bad case of writer's block, so I started writing the first thing that came to mind. One thing led to another, and before long I was writing a meeting between Maiev and Arthas. No idea how that's going to spiral out. But if you think the meeting was badly done, then I suppose I might edit out that section. It's rather ironic that at this rate Wrath of the Light will be finished last. Despite taking place first in the timeline.

 **Edit:**

I HATE the name Maiev. See I once played a D&D campaign where my sister played a half orc thief named Maive. It was pronounced exactly the same way, but the e was in a different place. So I naturally associate the pronounciation with that spelling. That's why I keep making the typo. Also, I don't know where I got the idea that Archimonde was spelled without an e.

Actually, scratch that. I hate all fantasy names.


	9. Old Roots

**Chapter Nine: Old Roots**

An uneasy silence had fallen over Ashenvale of late. The demons no longer pressed in on the borders, or sought to bring the Alliance and Horde to battle. Neither did the night elves attempt any further raids. Aside from a few skirmishes with doomguards and satyr's it seemed as if the whole war had come to an abrupt halt. It was the deep calm before the plunge, or so the wiser believed.

Jaina Proudmoore reappeared from where she had been scouting the enemy territory. She was met by Thrall, Grom Hellscream, and Jorn the Redeemer. The Paladin and Blademaster both seemed very uncomfortable in each others presence. Glares could occasionally be seen between them.

"Well Jaina," said Thrall, "what have you found?"

"The legion has completely replenished their forces." said Jaina with a sigh. "Archimonde has called in so many reinforcements. I think they actually number larger than they did before. It's… it's as if none of the victories we've won make any difference."

"I don't understand this." admitted Thrall. "If Archimonde indeed has such great numbers on his side, why doesn't he bring them all to bear at once. He could crush us underfoot."

"Its possible he didn't expect us to do this well." reflected Jaina ruefully.

"What do you mean?" asked Thrall

"He is a coward." stated Grom. "He began his campaign by hiding behind the undead scourge and having them clear the way. Rather than face Cenarius directly, he manipulated the Horde into killing the demigod.'

"Precisely," said Jaina, "Archimonde was never planning to give us a fair fight. From the very beginning, the Burning Legions invasion was supposed to be the coup de grace. While their mortal and undead minions did most of the work.

"I don't think Archimond was ever expecting to have to fight this hard to take Azeroth."

"That would explain his inaction." reflected Jorn. "My men are beginning to get restless. Some think the Legion has given up the fight, others that something worse is coming. I fear it may be the latter."

"Why Ashenvale?" asked Thrall suddenly.

"What?" said Jaina.

"Why Ashenvale forest?" repeated Thrall. 'What is so important? Why is invading this forest Archimonde's masterstroke? The energies of this place are very strong but… well…"

"The same could be said of the High Elves Sunwell." realized Jaina. "I don't know. The night elves seem to have some kind of history with them, the doomguards speak of them often. I think there was an invasion of this place a long time ago, and Archimond has come to finish the job."

"We could fill many tomes with what we do not know." reflected Jorn.

There was silence as they mulled it over. They wondered what the meaning behind recent events was, and what their role to play in them was. Then they wondered when the mysterious Prophet would reappear.

"Where the hell is the Prophet?!" snapped Thrall after a moment.

A similar statement was said by everyone.

* * *

The scent of boiling herbs filled the Prophets nostrils as he finished making his tea. Having run out of things to accomplish, now there was only waiting. Waiting until events were right. He poured the tea into a cup and sipped it.

It was very refreshing.

There was nothing like watching the sunset while drinking a nice hot cup of tea. Now if only he could think of something more productive to do with his time.

* * *

The gates of Gilneas stood tall, forlorn and defiant. They loomed over the surrounding landscape. The trees beneath its shadow swayed, as growls emanated from the darkness of the wood. Within this forest of lonely trees, the Dreadlords convened. As they did so, a small force of undead with them, they dragged behind them a number of catapults. As the machines creaked and groaned over the rocks, there was a snarl. A pack of creatures, humanoid in shape but with the heads of wolves and long claws rushed out of the trees. More were soon to follow.

Balnazzar raised one hand, and a surge of darkness tore through the front ranks. Varimathras summoned fire to consume many of them. Detheroc lulled many of the worgen into an unnatural sleep, sending his forces to cut them to pieces. Despite this, a number of undead were killed. A small number. But with the might of three greater Nathrezim set against them it was impressive.

"These worgen continue to be a thorn in our side." said Detheroc. "I still cannot see how we could have missed them before now?"

"The creatures are savage." mused Varimathras. "But were we to set the full might of the scourge against this place, neither they nor the humans would withstand us."

"Yes," said Balnazzar, "it is fortunate for these humans that we have thus far had no reason to waste the resources. However, their time is about to run short."

"Be careful of such words, Balnazzar." warned Varimathras. "Lord Archimonde instructed us to rebuild the scourge. We are not to make further conquests until after he has finished his business in Kalimdor."

"This is true, Balnazzar." said Detheroc. "Are you suggesting we disobey him?"

Balnazzar gave Deteroc a look. He was fully aware that Detheroc was himself trying to find a way around his own instructions. And was succeeding for that matter. "It is true that we are forbidden from directly assaulting Gilneas. However I doubt Lord Archimonde would object if we were to bring about its downfall by other means." He motioned to a contingent of his forces, and they broke off from the main force as the Dreadlords pressed on.

They came out of the trees and finally had a clear look at the walls. Great and black, indifferent to the suffering of others. The trees around the wall had been cut down within six hundred feet of the wall, and their stumps still remained. There would be no taking it by surprise.

"You've kept your secret long enough, Balnazzar." said Detheroc. "How do you intend to achieve this victory? The plague?"

"In a manner of speaking," said Balnazzar, "but not the plague you are thinking of. For you see, these worgen are recent creations. I shall begin with a brief history of the humans in this place. For to understand the brilliance of my plan, you must understand them.

They are ruled by a King named Genn Graymane. Some years before the orcs sacked Stormwind, Graymane attempted to conquer Lordaeron. It was a disaster, King Terenas defeated him effortlessly. Then for reasons beyond my comprehension, Terenas released him without any demands.'

"Who is this… King Terenas?" asked Detheroc.

"The former ruler of Lordaeron," said Varimathras, "you should pay more attention."

"He is dead now." said Detheroc. "And therefore of no concern."

"Whatever the case," said Balnazzar, "Graymane was humiliated. Yet with Lordaeron the dominant power, he had no choice but to swallow his pride. Then King Terenas called together and Alliance against the orcs. Graymane joined out of fear that refusing would make him a target. He took Terenas' resources and used them for his own ends. Then he withdrew as soon as he sensed the Alliance was crumbling.

"He began building these walls well before that. He used the money meant for the Internment Camps and Alliance Fleet. When he had finished his work, the undead scourge had come into full flower. As soon as King Terenas requested aid, he laughed. When he was given information on the scourge, however, he began to take matters more seriously.

"Yet rather than aid his former rivals, he choose to withdraw into his borders. His fleet was set to sink any vessels which entered his waters. All contact to and from Gilneas was completely cut off."

"You have illustrated the mind of our enemy." said Varimathras. "But I do not see how this will aid us in destroying him."

"I was getting to that." said Balnazzar. "In theory the defenses should have been completely immovable. However the man charged with the defenses, Darius Crowley, disregarded his orders. For when the scourge became triumphant, many refugees came to the gates begging to be let in. Some among them had family in Gilneas.

"The scourge was fast behind them, but Genn Graymane ordered that they be left to the slaughter. He feared that some might be members of the cult of the damned. A prudent decision, but ultimately futile. Darius Crowley decided that he'd had enough of his King. He allowed the refugees in, and staged a palace coup.

"For a few weeks, Gilneas was opened up again and many refugees entered. During this time Darius Crowley sent an expedition to Kalimdor. Had Gilneas continued in this policy, they might have become a terrible threat. Fortunately Genn Graymane managed to stage a counter coup. He had Darius Crowley imprisoned deep within his dungeons.

"Unfortunately the damage was already done. Though he might reseal the borders, he now had many thousands of refugees taking shelter. And it was clear that his people were not comfortable with his plans. He could not remove the refugees, but he feared that they might try to open the gates. That they might convince others of his subjects to assist. Moreover, our undead had begun to press upon his borders. He began to wonder if his defenses would indeed hold out.

"And that was why he engineered the worgen."

"You mean to say that this Graymane created the creatures?" asked Detheroc, impressed despite himself.

"Yes, he had been working for years to ensure that Gilneas had wizards equal to the Kirin Tor. He seized the refugees, and disappeared them from public view. Men, women and children alike simply disappeared. Experimenting upon them in secret, his efforts killed most of them. But those that remained became worgen. Monsters that killed without mercy. Whose bite could transform living creatures into replicas of themselves.

"He loosed the beasts upon the refugees who remained outside, still begging to be let in. They were torn apart, devoured, or converted. The scourge force sent here was obliterated. This display of ingenuity impressed Lord Archimonde. He proclaimed that no further assaults were to be launched. Partially because they had amused him, but also because we had other enemies to fight."

"Yet how will any of this aid us in the humans destruction?" asked Varimethras.

"Is it not obvious?" asked Balnazzar, as the force he had sent out into the forest returned. Chained and held at bay were twelve worgen, snarling and struggling. One of the cultists holding the chains was dragged forward and torn to shreds. Balnazzar waved a hand, and the beasts suddenly fell into an unnatural sleep. "Put them on the catapults."

The cultists obeyed, and set the worgen each on a catapult.

"If I am to understand," said Detheroc, "you mean to catapult the worgen over the walls into Gilneas? Isn't that… somewhat undignified?"

"Perhaps," admitted Balnazzar 'but it should work. I have enchanted these catapults personally. Things launched by them will slow down as they descend. The worgen will be unharmed, and the humans will fall by their own plague.

"Genn Graymane is about to learn that while you can shut yourself in," he smiled, 'you cannot shut the legion out. Fire!"

The catapults were launched, and the worgen soared over the great walls of Gilneas. As they descended their fall gradually slowed. Soon they were beyond sight. For a few hours the Dreadlords remained where they were, watching. Soon, however, the sounds of screaming could be heard over the walls. Smoke began to rise as somewhere within Gilneas a fire started.

"If I might ask," said Varimathras, "how did you learn all this?"

"I've been scrying on Gilneas for months." said Balnazzar.

"But what of the parts which we haven't even been present for?" asked Detheroc.

"I asked a necromancer for information regarding the history of these nations." admitted Balnazzar. "It was quite informative. Humans have proven quite useful in their own annihilation."

They might have laughed if that was a thing Dreadlords did. As it is, they were amused by their enemies folly.

* * *

Tyrande and Malfurion broke off from Shandris that day. They took with them only a small party of elves and leaving the rest to do battle with the Legion. They traveled by both day and night, and into many tangled veils. Yet the land itself conspired to speed their passing, and trouble those who might do them harm. On the third day since Tyrande had met Warchief Thrall, Malfurion turned aside from the path. He made his way up a hill in great smiled. Tyrande followed after him and found him kneeling by a great gnarled and twisted tree. A smile was on his face, devoid of strain or wisdom. It was almost childlike, and he seemed scarcely able to contain his glee.

"What is it, beloved?" asked Tyrande.

"I knew this tree," said Malfurion as he stood, "I watched it fall upon this spot when it was but an acorn. It recalls me, I think, though only vaguely. It has weathered many harsh storms, seen the rising and falling of many moons and suns. A child from a nearby village used to come here to climb its boughs. Then she grew too old and turned her minds to other matters." His face grew suddenly somber. "I have slept long. Missed much.

"Perhaps I should have stayed awake, rather than remain within the emerald dream."

"Whatever we ought to have done," said Tyrande, "it is too late now. We can only move forward, and do what we must."

"Yes," said Malfurion, "yes you are right. Come, we have much to do."

Thus it was that they pressed on, into the shadow of Mount Hyjal. On they went through the night, until at last they came before a cave which had been sealed shut by a great boulder. Summoning many vines, Malfurion had them haul it. There was a terrible straining, following by the groaning of rock on dirt. As the boulder rolled away down the hill, the morning sun rose behind them. The world was illuminated in new light.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

This chapter as well was split in two. I left Strands of Fate alone because it was all one narrative. This one, however, was several narratives.

Also, did I just make Genn Graymane into a complete monster? I think I did, and I don't think its very far from his actions in canon. It is canon that he planned to use the worgen against the scourge, and it backfired horribly. I merely took things a few steps farther and made his wizards engineer the worgen strain. Which makes sense, since we never hear anything about the worgen until WoW. I also explained how the strain got beyond the walls of Gilneas. Fun.

I guess I just wanted to give our favorite Dreadlord trio an actual victory or two.

Enjoy.


	10. Brothers in Blood

**Chapter Ten: Brothers in Blood**

Tyrande and Malfurion broke off from Shandris that day. They took with them only a small party of elves and leaving the rest to do battle with the Legion. They traveled by both day and night, and into many tangled veils. Yet the land itself conspired to speed their passing, and trouble those who might do them harm. On the third day since Tyrande had met Warchief Thrall, Malfurion turned aside from the path. He made his way up a hill in great smiled. Tyrande followed after him and found him kneeling by a great gnarled and twisted tree. A smile was on his face, devoid of strain or wisdom. It was almost childlike, and he seemed scarcely able to contain his glee.

"What is it, beloved?" asked Tyrande.

"I knew this tree," said Malfurion as he stood, "I watched it fall upon this spot when it was but an acorn. It recalls me, I think, though only vaguely. It has weathered many harsh storms, seen the rising and falling of many moons and suns. A child from a nearby village used to come here to climb its boughs. Then she grew too old and turned her minds to other matters." His face grew suddenly somber. "I have slept long. Missed much.

"Perhaps I should have stayed awake, rather than remain within the emerald dream."

"Whatever we ought to have done," said Tyrande, "it is too late now. We can only move forward, and do what we must."

"Yes," said Malfurion, "yes you are right. Come, we have much to do."

Thus it was that they pressed on, into the shadow of Mount Hyjal. On they went through the night, until at last they came before a cave which had been sealed shut by a great boulder. Summoning many vines, Malfurion had them haul it. There was a terrible straining, following by the groaning of rock on dirt. As the boulder rolled away down the hill, the morning sun rose behind them. The world was illuminated in new light.

A musty and ancient air came out of the cavern mouth which remained. Yet the seal was broken. As Malfurion Stormrage and Tyrande Whisperwind entered the cave, they smelled stale air. This place had not known wind in many ages. They were followed by a troop of sentinels, a number of Dryads, and a few of the Druids of the Talon. Within the mountain lay a vast series of caverns, covered in blue moss. Great mushrooms arose around them, giving off a low blue light by which they could see their way. The occasional drip, drip, drip of water could be heard.

"These barrow deeps have remained untouched for nearly three thousand years." stated Malfurion for the benefit of the younger members of their company. "Still, there is no telling what creatures may have taken up residence after we sealed these tunnels shut."

"There is nothing to fear in this place," said Tyrande, "the only enemy who has ever given me pause is now corrupting the lands above us. Let us be done with this business and get back to the surface."

"Agreed," said Malfurion "just be careful. There is not telling how the Druids of the Claw will react to us after all this time."

"I will scout ahead, and see what I may find." said Tyrande.

Two paths stood before them, one going left and one going right. Tyrande choose the left one, wishing that there were birds for her to see through the eyes of in this place. Not far along, she found that the two paths were connected by an icy chamber. Within it scuttled many gigantic spiders. Each one was larger than Tyrande's mount.

They scuttled about, moving cocoons in the shape of wild animals.

"These cave spiders are enormous!" cried Malfurion.

"I sense a strange darkness tainting them." said Tyrande "They have been transformed by a great evil!"

Avoiding them, Tyrande went into a passage which bent upwards into the mountain. Along either side of it were great pillars which reached up to the ceiling. The floor here was slick and icy, and the footing was difficult as they made their way up. Finally, however, they came to a fire fueled by moss and bits of mushroom. Around it a clan of Wendigo's were huddled, eating a meal.

"Come," said Malfurion, "let us leave these creatures in peace. There is no purpose to be served by slaying them."

Tyrande complied. The path was a dead end anyway.

Retracing their steps, they came back to the entryway and tried the other passage. this time taking their soldiers with them. "Let us try another path," said Malfurion. "I should like to avoid slaying the cave spiders if possible."

"You are too merciful, Malfurion." said Tyrande. "They are a threat."

A little ways on they found a group of Kobolds waiting for them. They clutched their picks and axes, and leered at the night elves. Yet they did not engage.

Tyrande and Malfurion searched north,. There they found many corpses being burned in blue fire. Yet no way could be seen. Finally they returned to the icy chamber. Tyrande could have sworn she saw a passage leading out through the cave spiders.

"There is no choice now, my love." said Tyrande.

"So be it." said Malfurion.

"Forward my warriors! Slay the beasts!" cried Tyrande.

The spiders fell quickly before their onslaught. They were pierced with many arrows. Huntresses slashed at them with glaives. Even as the beasts tried to fight back the Druids of the Talon cast their spells. They used their magics to confuse their senses, making the spiders legs and claws bite at thin air. Before long they were all destroyed.

Pressing on they found many stakes set into the ground. On each one of them were the skulls of many different kinds of creatures. Some of them were elves.

Soon they passed into a great chamber with many spikes of rock growing out of the floor. The ceiling here was very high, and they saw spiders in various places. Trying to avoid them, Tyrande led her forces left around the spires.

They pressed on, heading east into the mountain. Huge blue mushrooms grew here, and the ice melted away to be replaced by regular stone as it became warmer. Changing their course to the south, they went on into the dark. Tyrande glanced this way and that for any sign of their quarry.

As they pressed on, they came upon the spiders nesting ground. Countless egg sacks stood pulsing, and the ground was blighted. Green mist was in the air as the spider guards moved forward.

"Demon bile!" realized Tyrande. "This must be what cursed the spiders!"

"If the corruption can do this to these simple creatures." said Malfurion. "I dare not imagine what it could do to the beasts who live above."

"We must put an end to this corruption, no matter the cost!" cried Tyrande. "Destroy the eggs!" Even as she spoke, however, the eggs hatched.

Spiders surged forward in great ranks. Arrows were shot, glaives hurled to slash legs. Webs shot forth to entangle warriors, as Malfurion summoned vines to tie down his enemies. A dryad impaled one on her spear, while Tyrande shot another dead with an arrow.

Webs pulled down a huntress and Tyrande leaped to their side, fending off a spider. She drove her dagger into its eye, then stooped to free her comrade. Ultimately they triumphed, and the creatures were all slain. Yet the wounds were terrible, and Tyrande hesitated to press on with her soldiers like this.

"Come Furion," she said, "let us follow the passage a bit further while our soldiers recover.'

As they pressed on they found more blighted ground that gradually faded away. Yet soon in the darkness they saw a fire. Creeping closer, they came upon a clan of Furbolgs clustered around the fire. One of them looked up.

"Hold Priestess, we need your help! Our shaman was bitten by a strange spider and has become deathly ill. Our tribesmen have run off, leaving us to fend for ourselves."

"What would you have us do?" asked Tyrande.

"The waters of the nearby fountain of life can save him, but we dare not leave him in this state." He brought up a vial. "If you can fill this vial with its waters and return it to us, our shamans life will be saved."

"If his wisdom will prevent you from becoming feral like your tribesmen," said Tyrande, "I will gladly save your shaman." She took the vial. Then they pressed on.

It was not long before they ran into a group of skeletons. Bows were launched at them, but the arrows went wide. Ghosts came screeching out of the walls, hurling fell curses. Tyrande launched an arrow that tore through one of them. Malfurion raised his staff, and sent a pulse of druidic energy which consumed them.

Malfurion looked to her. "We should investigate this place further."

"I agree." said Tyrande. "If the dead walk these tunnels we must root out the source."

Following the tunnel the skeletons had come from, they found only skulls and bones and a pool of chill water. Here Malfurion kneeled, closing his eyes.

"I sense an unholy taint here." said Malfurion. "Give me a moment and I will drive it out."

Raising his staff Tyrande sensed nature mustering. The taint within these tunnels held on, but little by little it was torn out. There was something akin to a scream and then Malfurion stood.

"It is done." said Malfurion as he turned to her. "This place has been purified."

Turning back they made their way onwards until they came to a side passage. Following it, they saw a great number of thunder lizards, hanging around pools. These were peaceful beasts unless provoked and to kill them would be a shame.

These ones were not corrupted.

Tyrande motioned for Malfurion to stop. "This must be the fountain of life. I need only place the vial in the fountains waters. Go back, and get the rest of our people. I will gain the vial alone."

"Perhaps we should attempt the attack with our warriors." said Malfurion. "You cannot defeat them all alone."

"I don't intend to." said Tyrande.

Then she raced forward. The thunder lizards took note of her and sent bolts of lightning her way. She rolled away quickly. Tyande. nearly to the fountain as lightning shot past her shoulder. Opening the vial, she scooped up the liquid and stopped it up again as she fled back.

Lightning burned the wall next to her as she raced down the passage. The thunder lizards lumbered after her, yet then she passed beyond their territory. All but one lost interest and retreated. The one Tyrande turned and shot an arrow at it. As she did glaives, spears and arrows shot from the darkness and slew the creature.

As it fell, Malfurion came forward. "That was very brave, and very foolish my love."

"True enough," said Tyrande, "yet the thunder lizards are noble creatures. I do not like the idea of slaying them. Let us return this vial to the furbolgs."

She rode back, and found the furbolgs waiting. They murmured as she approached. "Elune be praised, Priestess. Truthfully, we doubted that you'd return. Now our shaman has a chance." Taking the vial, he made his way over to the shaman and poured it down his throat.

At once the hunched over and sickly figure arose in new life. He made his way over to Tyrande, and she realized that this was the very same Shaman she had met before. "Again I must thank you for your help," he said as he removed a medallion from his neck. "take this talisman. Should you require our aid, it will summon us to fight at your side."

"I thank you." said Tyrande. "I am sure I will have need of it before the end."

Before the end.

It occurred to Tyrande that they were all going to die. The chances of them being able to stop Archimond were very low. Looking at the furbolgs, had a terrible feeling that their race was doomed. That all races everywhere were doomed. However she forced herself back under control. Then she made her way back to the others, saying a prayer for the furbolgs.

"Do you believe we will be able to stop Archimonde, Malfurion?" asked Tyrande as they continued.

"The cause is not hopeless." said Malfurion grimly. "Not yet. Even so I fear the cost may be high. It is why I desired to make allies with the humans. Every ally we gain before the end may be of use. And if we fail… all is lost."

As they went onward, the ground became blighted with fel magic. Then they halted, for a passage opened before them. Many torches flanked it, and at its end stood a doorway of heavy steel. Tyrande paused.

"The pathway cuts off to the south, but this doorway looks promising." she said.

"Oh no…" said Malfurion. "How could I have forgotten"

Tyrande made her way down the passage as Malfurion followed. "What is behind this door that worries you my love?"

"This door leads to Illidan's prison, Tyrande." said Malfurion. "We should go… now!"

"Illidan?" asked Tyrande. "It's been ten thousand years. Could he still be alive? We should free him, Furion! He would be the perfect ally against the undead and their demon masters!" She made her way towards the door, and her warriors followed.

"No Tyrande!" cried Malfurion. "That beast must never be set free!"

"But he is your brother!" cried Tyrande.

"Be that as it may," said Malfurion, "he is far too… dangerous. I forbid it."

He forbade it. As if Tyrande were some servant girl to be ordered and sent away for her own good. And Malfurion a wise druid, making decisions for the good of all, whether they liked it or not. "Only the goddess may forbid me anything!" she snapped. "I will free Illidan whether you like it or not!"

She and her sentinels entered through the gates and shut them behind.

Malfurion remained silent for a long moment. Finally he looked to those that had remained, the dryads and druids. "There is no reasoning with her when she gets like this. Come, we must continue our mission to find the Druids of the Claw."

They turned their backs to the door, and made their way south. The passage eventually turned east. The ceiling became lower and the passage opened out a bit. A pool was by the wall, and blue fire was burning on its surface. Further on, they came to an ancient shrine. Architecture dated to the ancient cities. Nothing had been built like this since the fall of the Well of Eternity.

At last they came to a gap, which was too far to jump. The water between it was icy cold.

"Do you suppose we'll have to find a magical tome or something?" asked a Dryad.

"Wonderful," said a Druid of the Talon, "a fetch quest."

Malfurion stepped forward to the gap. "Let me pass!" he called. "The Arch-Druid of the Moonglade demands passage!" A great bridge of blue light appeared.

"…Well that was easy." said the Druid of the Talon.

They crossed without incident. Yet as they crossed, they came across a tribe of creatures with the faces of birds. Their claws had feathers on them. They marched forward.

"Turn back!" cried their leader. "You are unworthy to bask in the bear gods presence!"

"Bear gods?" asked Malfurion.

"Turn back!" snarled the leader. Then they charged.

Malfurion raised his staff and summoned to him a vast number of vines. They arose and seized the tribe under them. The creatures strained and struggled in vain. The Druid and his people passed onwards without incident. Malfurion had no desire to harm any living thing without need. With some exceptions of course.

As they pressed on he came across a great land bridge leading over a lake of flames. And flying over it were some of those exceptions. Great black dragons were hovering above them, and he halted. "Foul spawn of Deathwing! I should have known that you loathsome beasts would take refuge within the flames of the earth!"

Battle looked as though it were about to be joined. However before it could there came a call, magical in nature. The black dragons looked up, as if heeding some unknown voice. Then they flew away through the caves without further battle.

"What foul errand was it that they sought to achieve here?" wondered Malfurion. "No matter, I expect we shall soon find out."

"Perhaps these… bear gods have something to do with it?" suggested a Druid of the Talon.

A though occurred. "Perhaps the creature was referring to the sleeping druids of the claw." suggested Malfurion. "But why would he call them bear gods when they appear as I do?" Soon they came to a ledge, and Malfurion looked down upon it to see many bears wandering too and fro. "Ah, the Druids of the Claw are awake already! Come my brothers, we have much to do!"

They snarled and rushed up the hill at them, and Malfurion sensed their thoughts. "What? They have lost themselves to their animal aspects! They are mindless and feral!"

"In the ravens name!" said a Druid of the Claw as they raised their staffs.

Winds kicked up from the passages, and hoisted the bears into the air, swirling them around. They pressed passed them quickly. "The horns call might work," said Malfurion, "but it would reach only a few of them in this part of the cavern. We should find the center of these caves, and use it there!"

They pressed into the center of the cave, making their way onwards. The Druids of the Claw must have smelled them, because they came bounding after them roaring. Malfurion and his comrades raced through the halls, fast pursued. Yet their path led them through a nest of spiders that rushed at them. Dodging past the foul creatures, they rushed north and found a metal gate barred and locked.

Malfurion summoned his power and transformed into a bear. With one stroke of his paw he broke the gate clean off and sent it falling away. Then he returned to normal and they went onward. By now the Druids of the Claw and the spiders had lost interest. Yet they found two of the beasts barring their path.

The Druids of the Talon summoned their cyclones and sent the creatures spinning into the air. Heading east, they slipped past another nest of spiders unnoticed. They made their way up the slopes. Here they paused, only for a moment, tired beyond measure.

"Let's stop here, if only for a moment." said Malfurion. "I need a rest." He sat down, and so did the druids. "This is difficult indeed." he reflected finally. "At the least, however, I now know what the black dragon flight is doing here."

"What is it?" asked a brother.

"When Deathwing was known as Neltharion he presided over the earth." said Malfurion. "His flight still holds some affinity for that part of nature. I believe they came here to drive the Druids of the Claw to madness. Though what purpose it served I cannot know. Certainly the Druids have not caused much harm."

"Perhaps their work was not yet complete." mused a Druid. "It might be that they intended to corrupt the Druids to become their loyal servants."

"If that is so," said Malfurion, "than it is fortunate we arrived when we did. I should hate to think what carnage might be unleashed if the Druids of the Claw became a force for ill." He stood. 'What is your name?"

"Fanasas, Archdruid." said the Druid.

"Very well." said Malfurion. "Let's continue Fanasas, time is against us."

They pressed onward, and found a Druid of the Claw wandering mindlessly. Furion summoned vines and roots to pull him against the wall, then continued on. Breaking down another gate, they went onwards into the very center of the caverns. Raising the horn to his lips, Furion blew a single note. It resounded throughout the length and breadth of the caverns.

And across them, the Druids of the Claw regained their elven forms once again. Furion could sense it, long before they came lumbering through the many passages to meet him. They came in great numbers. Thousands upon thousands rushed out of dens to fill the room, and the room beyond that. Finally their leader came forth.

"Shan'do Stormrage," he said, eyes bleary. "I don't know what came over us. Its been so long since we remembered who we were."

Malfurion smiled. "All is well, thero'shan. I have need of you and your mighty brethren once again. After these many ages the Burning Legion has returned, and only our combined strength can drive them back."

"Then we Druids of the Claw are yours to command, Shan'do Stormrage." replied the leader.

* * *

As soon as she entered Illidan's prison and shut the doors Tyrande halted. She realized that the guardians would be a problem. They were unlikely to let her take Illidan. Cenarius alone had given them their instructions. And he would have never sanction what she was doing now.

Then she froze. On the ground were countless skulls, piled up and they belonged to elves and elves alone. Was it possible that the wardens had set those skulls before? It wasn't?

"I cannot go back." she said. "Goddess grant that Furion was wrong."

At that moment a great beast stepped forward, flanked by watchers. "Your quest is foolhardy! Even your goddess has condemned the one you seek to free!"

Battle was joined. Arrows were launched at the beast. Heedless of the arrows it lumbered forward and brought down a claw. Tyrande rolled aside and drew her knife. She slashed it in the leg as a warden was shot through the throat. A huntress met another in a flurry of blows, before an archer shot the warden in the back.

Then it was done. Tyrande had slain those she should have fought alongside. Pressing on, she made her way past suits of flaming armor until she came to a door. It was sealed with many spells, and nothing they did could open it. There were two keyholes in it. Finally Tyrande relented.

"It seems the means of gaining access is elsewhere within this place." said Tyrande.

Retracing their steps and trying a side passage, they met a contingent of wardens. Yet they were disorganized and without leadership. They withdrew quickly without a fight. Where was Maive, during all this? Tyrande dreaded the prospect of meeting her in battle, yet it did not seem she was there.

They made their way onward, and after slaying the warden found a key. And within the cells, they found many of their own kind. Breaking open the gates, Tyrande entered. "What is the meaning of this? Why were you imprisoned?"

"We don't know." admitted the sentinel as they armed themselves. "One day the wardens came upon us in the night, seized us, and threw us in here. They asked us many questions, about arcane magic. I think they suspected some of our friends of looking at magic. Please Priestess Tyrande, we just want to go home."

"You shall." said Tyrande. "Yet there is much to do before that happens. Can you fight?"

"Yes," she said, "our bows are yours to command."

"I had intended to go swiftly through here." said Tyrande. "Yet this warrants further investigation. We will search every room, without fail!"

Breaking down the door to a side passage, they found their way into a great library. Tyrande pulled some of the tome's off the walls and looked through them. 'These are books on arcane knowledge."

"They are written by a great many hands." said a huntress. "Some of them are just research notes by night elves who looked into magic. Others date as far back as before the Well of Eternity."

"Why were these not destroyed?" asked Tyrande.

"Illidan was spared because Malfurion argued that he might one day be of use." said an archer. "Perhaps they applied a similar perspective to magic."

"This is heresy," said Tyrande, "the wardens were established to police the use of arcane magic. Not to… record it."

"But we are here to release Illidan, aren't we?" asked an archer.

Tyrande had no answer.

They pressed north and made their way onwards. As they did so, they found that the floor in this section was littered with mangled and gnawed on bones. What kind of depravity had the watchers indulged in as the eons passed?

Then they saw more of the creatures from before over a bridge. They rushed at them, and Tyrande sled her huntresses forward. The archers launched their arrows and several of the beasts fell. Tyrande ducked under a clad and stabbed upward with her knife. A huntress was torn apart by two of them. them in place while her archers launched their arrows. Then the last of the beasts were slain.

They pressed on to find even more corpses and bodies. Among them, Tyrande caught a glint and found the second key.

Once more returning to the gate, they set both keys into it and opened it. Then they pressed on. The passageway headed south, and they could do nothing but follow. Several times the doors branched out, and they wound within many watchers sleeping. Tyrande pressed on, trying to avoid any more needless carnage. The passage turned north, and they saw a creature on the far end.

"Death to the intruders!" he cried before rushing at them.

Their arrows were unleashed, and he was slain in moments. As they walked past the cell doors, Tyrande saw within one of them many night elves. They were bound in the nets of a great many spiders and imprisoned. "Cast down these gates! Free them!"

The doors were broken open, and the spiders were slain. The prisoners they had freed before came forward. They cut the others down from the webbing, and the girls began to sob. Tyrande came forward.

"What is the meaning of this? Why were you imprisoned?!"

"I…" she broke, "we found books of arcane magic on the body of the humans spellcasters. I was curious, I just wanted to look at it. I convinced the others to look with me when they tried to sway me. Please spare my, Priestess. We weren't planning to use anything in it, but the watchers didn't care.

"They seized us while we slept, and dragged us here. They tortured us… and the Son of Cenarius ordered that we be fed to those… things."

"You were very foolish to look into the human's magics," said Tyrande sternly, "but you did not deserve this. I will see this matter resolved personally."

"There were others…" she said, "others they fed to those things."

A little further on they found a watcher. She rushed at them with blades. A flurry of arrows were launched and she fell dead. Tyrande took some satisfaction from her death. Within the chamber were instruments of torture. The corpse of several night elven villagers were hanging on stakes, headless. Water was boiling with many body parts within it. Turning away, Tyrande looked through the other door across from it.

Within they found yet more prisoners, and among them a domesticated wolf.

"Those of you who can fight will come with me. We will settle affairs with the one responsible for these… atrocities." said Tyrande "The rest of you remain here until we return."

As they pressed on, they found many trees growing beneath the ground. Suddenly they burst forth to life and rushed at them. Arrows and glaives were put to the test as they hacked and slew the creatures.

'The treants moved to block our path.' reflected Tyrande as they gained victory. 'Only a powerful druid could command such creatures.'

Beyond the trees they came to a waygate. Crossing over it, they found themselves in a far cleaner and more beautiful place. Making their way south, they found a fountain of life which they drank of gratefully. When they were all healed, they pressed on, until they came to another grove. There were many of the creatures from before wandering it, and battle was joined.

Their arrows were shot true, but there were many of them. The huntresses held the creatures at back with strokes of their glaives. Arrow after arrow was shot. The creatures died one by one, never retreating or surrendering. Tyrande reflected that these beasts could have been of great use on the surface.

A little further on, they saw a statue of Tyrande. It showed her holding a glaive, and calling out to some unseen army. The wardens had held her in honor, and she was killing them. Yet the wardens were doing things Tyrande would have never done!

To her own people. The sentinels had been forged to deal with outside threats. The wardens had been formed by Cenarius to deal with corruption from the inside. If the wardens had committed these deeds upon other races, would Tyrande have cared? For some perhaps, but not for others.

What was a village of dark trolls to the life of a night elf?

Tyrande realized that she had spent her entire life being self centered. She had never even realized it. Ten thousand years of life was not for much, if she had learned so little within it.

"Where is everyone Priestess?" asked a huntress. "The wardens have far greater numbers than this."

Tyrande considered it. "Perhaps they have gone afield to ply their trade or fight the demons. Whatever the case, let us be thankful for it and continue before they return."

They pressed onwards through a great hall and finally came to the Son of Cenarius. He loomed very much like his Father before him, green bearded with the lower half of a stag, and the upper half of an elf. In his hand was a staff of living wood, and he was flanked by many creatures.

"Hold Priestess!" he cried. "This place is forbidden, even to one such as you. There is a terrible evil here that must remain chained beneath the earth."

"Illidan was considered a great hero once,'"said Tyrande firmly, "I believe he will become one again."

"Madness!" cried the Son of Cenarius. "You would doom us all by freeing the betrayer!"

The battle escaped Tyrande's memory, for it was a bitter and terrible one that she did not want to remember. Arrows flew, and claws rent flesh. The power of her goddess was used against her Goddesses own people. Many on both sides died, including one among those they had freed — a prisoner who would never see the light of the sun again.

Finally, the Son of Cenarius died, and the last of his minions died soon after.

Tyrande made her way past the bodies to a lone cell. Within it she saw a figure, blindfolded with gray-black hair. He was muscular, and carried himself like a predator. And power coursed within him. A familiar power which had long ago been alluring.

"Illidan," she said, scarcely able to believe she was seeing him again, "is that you?"

He turned to her and made his way to the cell doors. "Tyrande, it is your voice? After all these ages spent in darkness, your voice is like the pure light of the moon upon my mind." His words were poetic, he always had held a flair for drama which far exceeded his elder brother.

Tyrande had no idea what to say. So she cut to the point. "The Legion has returned, Illidan." She paused. "Your people have need of you once more."

Illidan turned away and shuddered a silent fury came over him. Then he turned round and was veiled in darkness. He roared, and with that roar the gates of the prison surrounding him shattered to pieces. And Tyrande realized that this cell was no impediment to Illidan. Only the watchers had prevented his escape.

Illidan stepped over the wreckage, scowling. "Because I once cared for you Tyrande, I will hunt down the demons. But I will never owe our people anything!"

"Then let us hurry back to the surface." said Tyrande. "The demons corruption spreads with every second we waste!"

She led her sentinels and those she had freed through the wardens lair, and was not barred by any enemy. Yet as they passed the gates, they met Furion waiting for them with his forces. They looked very grave, and the Druids looked upon Illidan with open hostility. The Demon Hunter regarded them with simple contempt in turn. And Tyrande realized that if she were anyone else, there would be even more bloodshed. It was fortunate that Malfurion could not bring himself to harm her.

"Furion..." said Tyrande.

"It has been an eternity, brother." snarled Illidan in rage, bearing his swords which he had retrieved. A gift that was given to him when he had long ago visited Pandaria. "An eternity spent in darkness!"

"Illidan!" said Malfurion, voice stern. "You were sentenced to pay for your sins, nothing more!"

"And who were you to judge me?" snapped Illidan. "We fought the demons side by side if you recall."

"Enough of this, both of you!" cried Tyrande. "What is done, is done.' She tuned to Malfurion. 'My love, we will drive the demons back and save what is left of our beloved land!"

"Have you even considered the cost, Tyrande?" asked Malfurion of her. "This betrayers aid may doom us all before the end. I will have nothing to do with this."

It was done. They made their way back to the surface and spoke no more.

They could not have known that a shade had been watching them.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Holy crap, we actually had a chapter which dealt with a mission.

This mission was annoying to deal with. I don't really feel like going into it, but it took a long time. I will talk about the decision to make the Watchers a bunch of psychos. Basically, I had in mind that they would be the night elven version of the spanish inquisition. It makes sense that they would have other duties beyond guarding Illidan's cage. Somebody had to make sure the night elves didn't go back to using arcane magic.

Of course, given that all this is the case, Cenarius looks like even more of a sociopath than he does in canon. Funny how that works out.

Oh and Illidan finally enters the scene. I've been looking forward to this bit for a long time.


	11. A Destiny of Flame and Sorrow Part 1

**Chapter Nine: A Destiny of Flame and Sorrow Part 1**

Daelin Proudmoore came ashore on Kalimdor. He brought with him only a small party of soldiers as a guard. He was a tall, lanky man with a black beard and mustache. He went clad in a blue and black button up Kul'tiran Naval Officers uniform. On his head was a captains hat and at his side was a cutlass. Behind him in longboats were a large force who, at a word, could be dispatched to aid him.

The sun was high overhead, and the air was blurry with the heat. Daelin made his way up the beaches and there met the pig creatures he had sighted by telescope. They met them beneath the shade of a tree. They eyed him with an unusual familiarity. They were a race the Alliance had never encountered before. They had hailed his ships with a white flag, a tradition unique to the eastern kingdoms.

'What are you doing in quilboar lands, human?' It asked. 'Are you more refugees?'

Then they had seen humans before. That was hopeful. 'I am Daelin Proudmoore. Admiral of the Alliance Navy and King of Kul'tiras,' he said 'I am here searching for my daughter, Jaina. Have you seen her?'

Whispers sounded throughout the quillboars, before the chieftain turned back to Daelin. 'You are welcome among us, father of Jaina.'

'Then you have seen her?' asked Daelin, surprised despite himself.

'Lady Jaina cunning warrior, she brings us great victory over the demons.' said the quillboar.

Cunning warrior? His little girl? There must have been some mistake. 'Yes, the demons,' said Daelin, 'where is she? Can you take me to her?'

'In Ashenvale.' said the quillboar. 'She unite quillboars with ancient enemies centaur and tauren. She lead them against the demons. Then she return to Ashenvale, where she and Horde battle demons leader.'

A chill fell over Jaina. 'The Horde?' asked Daelin, wondering if it could be a coincidence. 'Describe the creatures of this horde?'

'They have green skin, and some ride wolves.' said the quillboar. 'Come into quillboar lands, but avoid bloodshed when can. Do battle with humans. Scale Stonetalon peak, and unite as one against red orcs. Turn red orcs green again, and enter Ashenvale to fight demons.'

'What?!' said Daelin. 'What is she thinking? Where is this Ashenvale?'

'Far to the north,' said quillboar. 'head north until lands become green and trees become thick. There lie land of night elves. Dangerous place always, now filled with demons even more dangerous.'

'I thank you for this information.' said Daelin, nodding to them. 'I must depart.' He turned to the guards. 'We're heading to this Ashenvale. My daughter is going to get herself killed.'

At that moment a clamor broke out, and the quillboars looked up. 'Doomguards!' squealed the pig creature. 'Doomguards have come! To war quillboars!' The creatures rushed off.

Daelin paused, torn between his desire to save his daughter from her own idiocy. And his sense of obligation to the innocent. 'After them, we'll assist as we can. Quickly!'

They followed the quillboars. Beyond they found the village already under assault by the enemy. They were massive creatures with red skin and great swords. One of them cleaved a quillboar in twain with one blow. There were others as well, red skinned imps which cast fire bolts into the midsts of the quillboars. One such bolt slew a pig man as it charged. An imp's skull was smashed by the quillboar chieftain. A doomguard was dragged down by the pig men, and stabbed to death with spears. Daelin rushed forward into the fray, and met one of the creatures head on. It brought down its sword, but his cutlass met it halfway. Its strength was like the weight of a mountain, but Daelin turned the blow, before returning with one of his own. The two of them fought back and forth, their swords moving faster and faster. Finally Daelin stepped aside and made a move with his wrist that disarmed the creature. Then he brought the blade round to cut off its head.

He looked around to get his bearings. His men had already joined the fray and were aiding the quillboars in bringing down the others. Drawing a pistol, the Admiral fired a shot which caught a doomguard right between the eyes. Daelin looked around as the demons were overwhelmed.

Yet more came around the hills and in greater numbers, and the stones echoed with their war cries. Human and quillboar alike took stances and awaited the coming battle with determination. Around the bend rode a great host of men with the bodies of horses, who hit the doomguards from the flanks. They hacked their legs out from under them and met them in a terrible melee. The quillboars rushed forward to meet the doomguards from the front. The demons fought well, but they were in a terrible position. The battle turned against them.

Finally, there came a call. A mighty green figure loomed over the hills, with four legs and arms like tree trunks. 'Withdraw you wretches! Withdraw!'

As commanded the demons turned and fled. The centaur moved to pursue, but a sudden rain of fire descended on them. It burned the front rank horribly and killing many. Those that remained broke off the assault and rode back the way they came.

When it was over the quillboar chieftain approached him, and offered a hand. Daelin took the hand. 'Our peoples are allies. Should become friends.'

'Perhaps,' said Daelin, 'however such negotiations will have to wait. I cannot linger.'

'We will send scout with you,' said quillboar, 'lead you to Ashenvale. He know how to navigate it. In return, you send forces to aid us?'

'Very well,' said Daelin, before turning to one of his men, 'send word to the fleet. Tell them to begin unloading the troops. We're going to Ashenvale, and we're going to assist these natives against the demons along the way. As a sign of the Alliance's goodwill, of course. The fleet is to continue searching for any sign of human habitation. Offer their assistance if needed.'

'Yes sir.' said the soldier, saluting.

It was only once he had a moment to himself that Daelin allowed himself to show his frustration. He slammed one foot against the ground in fury. Years spent fighting wars against unholy monsters from beyond this world. And now his daughter had gone and started an Alliance with them. She always had been naive.

'Daughter,' muttered Daelin to himself, 'what have you gotten yourself into?'

* * *

Screams of agony came from a necromancer as the rack was turned a few inches more. Elsewhere, a doomguard impaled an acolyte on a stake, so that he slid down slowly. Others were nailed to trees and left to have their lungs collapse.

'Who are these humans, that you are having them executed?' asked Kazzak, though he did not object per se.

'The death knight has been subverting the legions authority within the ranks.' said Tichondrius. 'Our loyalists have been reporting these men. For proclaiming that the Lich King is still alive.'

'You… you will see him before the end…' choked the Necromancer. '…you will die by his hand.'

'The Lich King is dead,' stated Tichondrius, 'and you are but a pawn. Like any other the Death Knight has used and disposed of.' The Necromancer spat in his face. Tichondrius raised one hand and the Necromancer screamed as he burst into flames. His soul was consumed by Tichondrius.

'Isn't this task beneath you?' asked Kazzak.

'With Lord Archimonde displeased with me, I have chosen to take a more direct hand in affairs.' admitted Tichondrius. 'I've had Anetheron establish who among the scourge are loyal to us. And who remain loyal to Ner'zhul's champion.'

'What does it look like?' inquired Kazzak.

'Well many of them seem willing to back whomever they judge to be the stronger power.' admitted Tichondrius. 'However, the Death Knight's support may be quite substantial.'

'And our support?' asked Kazzak.

Tichondrius remained silent for a moment. 'It seems that Ner'zhul arranged for Prince Arthas to purge our supporters. Whole contingents of demon worshippers just happened to end up assigned to Anderhol. Then, later, Hearthglen. What remained was devastated in the battles for Daggercap Bay and Drak'theron Keep.

'We should have been suspicious when the Death Knight Rivendare was nowhere to be found. Yet we had not counted on Ner'zhul betraying us after Lord Archimonde had been summoned.' He paused, curious. 'What of you, Kazzak? Has Archimonde given you further instructions?'

'I and what remains of my doomguards are being reassigned to the barrens.' said Kazzak. 'It seems that bastard Azgalor has been judged worthy to lead the assault on Mount Hyjal. He lost an army twice the size of my own, and with worse reason!'

'Yes, but your army consisted of doomguards.' mused Tichondrius. 'Who are a high-value soldier. In contrast, Azgalor commanded a motley assortment of lesser demons with a core of elites. Moreover, Azgalor's only assignment was to keep the enemy occupied. Despite his loss, he has succeeded in that venture thus far.'

Kazzak looked at Tichondrius for a long moment, and the Dreadlord matched his gaze. 'You do not seem like the same Dreadlord you were before.' said Kazzak after a moment.

'Perhaps I am not.' admitted Tichondrius, a tone of regret in his voice. 'I have been the chief lieutenant of Lord Archimonde for so long. I began to forget what it was to fear failure. I have delegated authority often and taken a direct hand only rarely.

'If I had involved myself earlier the Death Knight might have never had a chance to turn on us. Many of our warriors would still be alive.

'I… was wrong, Kazzak. I have grown complacent in my security, and it has cost the Legion dearly. I do not intend to repeat the mistake in the future.' He looked up. 'You had best depart to take command of the Barrens. I suggest you take with you a core of your own forces, ones you can trust. The value of having a loyal Lieutenant cannot be underestimated.'

'Yes,' said Kazzak, 'I suppose so.' He sheathed his sword and made his way to what remained of his forces. As he walked away, Tichondrius mulled over the conversation to himself. Then Kazzak glanced back. 'Lord Tichondrius?'

'What is it now?' asked Tichondrius.

'Good luck.'

Perhaps it was because both had narrowly kept their heads. Or perhaps their recent mutual humiliation by the same enemy. Whatever it was, Tichondrius could not help but reply. 'To you as well.'

A Kazzak departed, Tichondrius turned back to where the grisly executions. The acolyte had been torn in half by the rack.

* * *

Beams of light shot through the treetops to illuminate parts of the forest. It was mid-morning, and things were growing brighter. Yet within Ashenvale it seemed as if night had never left. The birds had begun to sing again in some parts of the forest with the recent defeats of the Legion. The blighted ground had been driven away.

The acolyte bowed before Arthas as he looked over the map before him. After a few moments, he lowered it and rolled it up, before reapplying the seal. Looking over the letter he had been given, he read through it twice. He looked to the acolyte. 'Your master is to be commended for his efforts; this is of great use.'

The acolyte looked down at the ground, her face sad. 'My master is… no longer with us. The demons learned of his inquiries and had him killed. His last wish was that I deliver these to you.'

'I see,' said Arthas, feeling a sense of guilt, 'his sacrifice will not be in vain. Return to your brethren, and tell them that the time of retribution is nigh. Yet first, we must stay our hand awhile. Rest assured, the demons shall pay a hundredfold for their actions.

'And the scourge shall emerge ever stronger.'

The acolyte bowed and made her way off into the shadows. Arthas reflected that the Cult of the Damned was the untold tragedy of Azeroth. They were used and abused by their human masters. They were driven in desperation to embrace the power of undeath. They were used by Mal'ganis to achieve his ends, and now he was using them. Even if victory was gained, Arthas doubted that any of the undead expeditions would make it out alive.

And suddenly he vowed to himself that he would not let that happen.

Then mounting Invincible, he rode off into the night. He rode hard until finally, he came into the meeting place. He found Thrall and Grom speaking, and a Paladin standing some ways behind them. As he arrived, they looked up, and the Paladin clutched his hammer. Arthas found the situation profoundly awkward.

'Well,' said Grom, 'you usually only seem to come about when you need something from us? What is it now?'

'There is a shifting of command taking place in the Legion.' said Arthas. 'Archimonde has grown displeased with the performance of his doomguards. He is reassigning Kazzak to the barrens. Replacing him will be the demon Azgalor.'

'You know this?' asked Thrall. 'How?'

'My agents in the scourge have reported it to me.' said Arthas. 'It will take some time for Azgalor and Kazzak to integrate themselves into the Legions ranks. While that is happening, the Dreadlord Tichondrius is the sole authority. He has set up his primary base of operations in Felwood.'

'Then we should strike at their leader.' said Grom. 'Let us have this Tichondrius' head and be done with it.'

'No!' said Arthas with far more anger than he meant to show, for Grom's words echoed his own long ago. 'I will deal with Tichondrius myself. You will stand by and prepare for an assault.' He produced the map and letter and pressed them into Thrall's hand. 'This map is a complete document of all the Legions main strongpoints. The undead and the Legion forces are kept in separate bases. To prevent a mutiny from having too deadly an effect.

'Key to this plan is speed. While I keep Tichondrius occupied, your forces must assault upon these bases. The Alliance here, the Horde here, take them out and kill as many demons as you possibly can.'

'What of the undead?' asked the Paladin, eyes narrowed. 'They will prove a threat, won't they?'

'I have been quite successful in subverting the authority of the Legion.' said Arthas, keeping his mind on the task at hand. 'My campaign in Lordaeron and Northrend damaged the Legion loyalists. This ensured that those that remain are devout followers of Ner'zhul. The undead will only intervene to keep up appearances.

'Stay out of their way, and they will stay out of yours.'

'Really?' asked the paladin. 'And how is the Lady Jaina to tell my men that they aren't allowed to attack the monsters who destroyed their home?'

'The Cult of the Damned are people!' snapped Arthas. 'They were taken from the desperate, the oppressed and the abused of the Alliance. I'm not asking you to like them. But at the moment they are risking torture and death to assist you against the Legion. it would be well if you could do them the decency of not attacking them!'

'…You didn't really answer my question.' said the Paladin after a moment.

'You people are supposed to be leaders!' snapped Arthas. 'Do you have to be walked through everything by a mysterious prophet?! Make your own decisions for once in your miserable lives and figure it out!'

The Paladin stepped back a pace at the anger in his tone. Arthas set one hand to the rise of his saddle and swung himself back onto Invincible.

'We will use this information you have given us.' stated Thrall 'However you would do well to measure your tone in the future.'

'I'll keep it in mind.' said Arthas. 'I have given you an opportunity. If you don't wish to take it, so be it! Ha!' He turned Invincible and rode away into the darkness following the trail towards the scent of decay and fel magic.

There was long silence as the three faction leaders mulled the matter over together. Finally, Thrall spoke; 'I for one think we should follow his advice. We have trusted him this far; he has not betrayed us.'

'Speak for yourself.' snapped Jorn.

'Can we slaughter the demons now?' asked Grom. 'I tire of this waiting.'

'I don't see why not.' admitted Thrall. 'Jorn, inform the Lady Proudmoore of these events. I would speak with her.'

'I have no idea where the Lady Proudmoore is.' said Jorn bluntly. 'She comes and goes at will. She is a wizard after all.'

'…Don't you have some way to contact her?' asked Thrall.

'No.' said Jorn. 'She may have gone to negotiate with some of the races of the barrens. but my Lady could be on the opposite side of Kalimdor by now-'

Suddenly there was a flaring of blue light,. A figure emerged from it, shrouded in a blue cloak and carrying a staff. 'Speak of a demon, and she shall appear.' snapped Jaina. 'We have a serious problem.'

'A demonic offensive?' inquired Grom hopefully.

'I just got back from meeting with the Centaurs.' said Jaina 'One of their scouts told me that a quilboar village was saved by a Kul'tiran force. I spoke with the leader of the village, and he told me that my Father had come to their aid. He has committed a great many of his forces to assist in the war against the demons. And in return, the chieftain had given him a scout to lead him and his forces to Ashenvale.'

'That's… good isn't it?' asked Jorn.

'No,' said Jaina, 'no it is not.'

'But Lord Proudmoore is a living legend.' said Jorn.

'That's the problem,' said Grom grimly. 'I've heard thousands of horror stories from veterans of the second war. They speak of an Admiral of terrible cruelty. He sank every orcish vessel he found without mercy, and shot the survivors dead with rifles. It didn't matter how unimportant it was. From the greatest barge to the most insignificant fishing ship, no one was safe.

'There is a great fear of the sea among many of my people to this day because of that. Getting put on the crew of a warship was considered a death sentence. Most of our worst defeats were dealt to us by Proudmoore.'

'Exactly,' said Jaina with a sigh, 'I'm afraid of what he might do if he gets here.'

'Won't you be able to stop him?' asked Thrall.

'It's not that simple,' said Jaina. 'I am the leader of this expedition. But I am still accountable to the Alliance, and my Father is the one who bankrolled it. He's the one who gave me the ships to lead all these people over the sea. His word was sufficient to get the other members of the Alliance to buy into my plans.

'If he gets here, and decides that a truce with the Horde is not in our best interest… well… he outranks me. As Princess of Kul'tiras, I am under his authority. As soon as he decides I'm not qualified to make decisions, every soldier from Kul'tiras will go to his banner. And with his reputation, most of the second war veterans will go over to him. There are a lot of people in my army who aren't happy with this truce. They think you are going to stab us in the back as soon as the demons are gone.'

'Most of the Warsong clan thinks the same thing of you.' shot back Grom.

'The point,' said Jaina, 'is that if it came down to a conflict of command, I don't think I could stop him. Not if he decided to start hostilities all over again.'

'…How long have we got until he gets here?' asked Thrall.

'Two weeks,' said Jaina, 'maybe less if he does a forced march.'

'Well that's alright then,' laughed Jorn. 'the demons will have ended all life by then.'

Everyone glared at him.

'Everyone is thinking it, I'm just saying it.' said Jorn. 'We can all sense that demonic power, I can feel it. As soon as that thing gets tired of watching its minions be slaughtered it will take a direct hand in matters. and wipe us out.'

A raven landed upon the ground and transformed into the Prophet. 'An astute observation, Paladin, and that is why the young prince's plan must not be carried out.'

'Young prince?' asked Jaina. 'Arthas was here?'

'You just missed him.' said Thrall. 'He is planning to assassinate the demons leader Tichondrius. In the chaos resulting from the loss of command he wants us to decimate the legions standing forces.' He looked to the Prophet 'Though I cannot see how such a plan would be counterproductive.'

'By defeating his forces once, you have humiliated Archimonde's subordinates.' said the Prophet. 'However, to do so again would be a humiliation to Archimonde.'

'Who?' asked Grom.

'The demon in charge of the demonic invasion.' said the Prophet. 'He is far beyond all those here. If we wound his pride, he will start taking this war seriously and wipe us all out. We must allow him to think that we are now barely able to oppose him.

'For now, we must remain inactive.'

'Remain inactive?' asked Jorn. 'There are demons trying to destroy our world! Are we the red dragon flight that we should do nothing?' Grom tried to suppress a laugh and failed at that.

'Jest if you wish,' said the Prophet in irritation. 'however, we cannot afford to provoke the demons. We have one chance to stop Archimonde, and we cannot waste it.'

'What chance is that?' asked Thrall.

'I can't tell you,' said the Prophet, 'someone might be watching us. If our plans were revealed early all would be lost. I will contact you when the time is right.' Then transforming into a raven, he flew away.

'…I hate that fool.' said Grom. 'I say we launch the assault, damn the consequences.'

'The Prophet is right.' said Thrall. 'I doubt our efforts would do anything more than inconvenience the Legion. And the cost might be great.'

'Agreed,' said Jaina. 'I'm sure Arthas has the best of intentions, but that didn't work out very well last time. My forces will follow the prophet's instructions.'

'Though I cannot agree with your assessment of the Prince,' said Jorn, 'my service is your milady. I will see to it that no assaults are launched upon the Legion.'

Everyone looked to Grom, who remained silent and sighed. 'The last time I disobeyed one of your orders, Warchief, I ended up nearly damning our people a second time. I am not fool enough to make the same mistake twice. I have made my views clear, and you have given your orders. I will make no move against the Legion without your word.'

'Good.' said Thrall, an edge in his tone. 'There is too much riding on this to let it fall apart now.'

* * *

The following evening Illidan Stormrage wandered through the blighted landscape of Felwood. Around him were countless trees which. They were slowly succumbing to the taint of the legion. The scent of unholy magics was in the air. Yet all of this was secondary to the resolved anger which coursed through Illidan as he walked alone.

'I am free after ten thousand years, and still, my own brother thinks I am a villain!' snarled Illidan 'I'll show him my true power! I'll show him the demons have no hold over me!'

'Are you certain of that, demon hunter?' came a cold and sardonic voice. 'Are you certain your will is your own?'

Illidan turned round, sensing the presence of a powerful being. It seemed to wield two different opposing forces of magic. Yet something about the scent was odd. It was like a human, except its scent was bathed in the aroma of endless corpses. There was another scent as well, the smell of bones long dead. 'You reek of death, human.' said Illidan as he brought up his blades and moved near to him. 'You'll regret approaching me.'

'Come then,' said the voice 'you'll find that we're evenly matched.'

The sound of hoofbeats could be heard as Illidan rushed to meet his enemy. He sensed power coursing towards him and deflected the spell with one hand. It was powerful, very powerful, but inexperienced compared to Illidan. He heard the whistle of a blade through the air coming towards him. The demon hunter brought up one of his glaives to block the strike, before returning it with one of his own.

His blow was parried, and the skeletal beast which his enemy stood astride danced away. Several more blows were exchanged between them. His enemy was skilled, very skilled, and Illidan felt the joy of battle lust upon him as they dueled back and forth. Yet it was clear as their battle continued that his enemy was merely testing him. Their blades locked together as they pressed against each other. 'We could go on fighting like this forever.' said Illidan 'What is it you truly want?'

They both leaped back, separating and facing each other down some ten feet away. 'The dreadlord who commands this undead army is called Tichondrius.' said the voice. 'He controls a powerful warlock artifact called the Skull of Gul'dan. It is responsible for corrupting these forests. Destroy it, and the darkness should lift.'

'What purpose of yours could be served by me doing this?' asked Illidan, not trusting him.

'I have a vendetta to fulfill against Tichondrius,' said the voice, growing cold. 'and that I'm trying to make up for some… mistakes I once made.'

'Why should I believe anything you say, little human?' asked Illidan, letting some measure of contempt taint his voice.

'If you don't, believe me, you may see for yourself.' said Arthas, before pausing. 'Surely you can sense that the darkness of this place has a source?'

Illidan remained silent for a moment. '…I will deal with this matter as I see fit.'

There was a change in the man across from him. He seemed to be looking for a way to say something. Finally, he spoke. 'The Skull of Gul'dan is a powerful magical artifact. If its power were to be consumed, you could become far greater than you are now. Perhaps great enough to slay Tichondrius, if I fail.

Just remember that just as a blade rends flesh, so must power scar the spirit.'

Then he rode away into the darkness. Illidan watched after him for a moment and then turned away. He would deal with the Skull of Gul'dan in due time. For now, he had other work to do.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Well, here we have the beginnings of a Destiny of Flame and Sorrow part 1. I got a bit carried away writing extra stuff, so I ended up having to make this into a multi part chapter. I was initially going to write the mission itself, but that could take awhile. Besides, my updates are late enough as it is.

As for the exact reason Daelin is getting involved, I have an explanation. Un the original timeline the quillboar never formally allied with Jaina. Which would mean they would have nothing to tell Daelin. He still would have helped them out, but he wouldn't have learned anything. So he would have continued searching along the coast.

Honestly, the most interesting part of writing this chapter was Illidan's perspective. Since he is blind, I had to rely on his other senses to paint the scene, and it made for some fun writing.

An interesting aspect of the title, a Destiny of Flame and Sorrow, is that it applies to the Legion. Not just Illidan and Arthas. It's a very nice title, which meshes well with the scene with Tichondrius. Speaking of Tichondrius, did he just have a character arc? I'm as surprised as you; it wasn't planned.


	12. A Destiny of Flame and Sorrow Part 2

**Chapter Ten: A Destiny of Flame and Sorrow Part 2**

Within the depths of Felwood, a lone village of night elves rallied itself. They tried as best it could to withstand the skeletons and satyrs. The monsters marched towards them supported by corrupted treants. The woods themselves had become twisted and places of horror. The once serene pools of water had mutated into a horrific swamp. Now it seemed the end of all that was green and good was at hand.

'Hold your ground!' cried Shandris Feathermoon as she set an arrow to her bow. 'If this sacred grove is destroyed, many others will fall! Hold your ground!'

Arrows were shot in great droves, spearing many of the saytrs and skeletons as they ran. Yet another always came to take their place, and the treants continued to lumber forward. The druids of the claw roared and took on the shapes of bears, before meeting the incoming hordes. For a moment they held them back. Yet there were always more, and soon the line began to bend.

Then he came.

Illidan Stormrage emerged from the darkness, writhed in flame. He slashed through dozens of skeletons within moments. The satyrs turned to meet him, yet it was in vain. He carved through them with utmost ease, reducing them to corpses in moments. From there he incinerated their corpses. As the treants rushed at him, Illidan thrust out his hands. Massive flames surged towards them, consuming them in fire. The corrupted trees flailed and finally were reduced to ashes.

Then it was over.

'…Unbelievable,' said Shandris, 'I had heard that the Betrayer walked once more among us. Yet I never imagined him to hold such power-'

'You there!' snapped Illidan in a voice laced with contempt. 'Are you in command of these people?!'

'Yes,' said Shandris, in shock, 'my sentinels have been trying to keep the satyr's in this region contained.'

'You need not concern yourself longer.' said Illidan. 'I will slay every demon and servant of darkness that walks this forsaken wood.' He spun his glaives in his hands, then sheathed them. Then he began to walk away.

'Wait,' said Shandris, 'the Legion numbers are too great for anyone to take on alone! You should remain here and help us keep them occupied until Malfurion-'

'My brother is unnecessary.' said Illidan, pausing to glance back. 'I will prove here and now that my power is far greater than his. Remain where you are, or ready yourselves to aid in my assault. I care not.' Then he rushed away into the darkness.

* * *

Malfurion looked over the map upon the table, as Tyrande consulted with her generals. Finally, she approached him. 'I have received reports from the front lines, Shan'do. The humans and orcs remain dormant. Illidan has gone into Felwood to hunt the demons. He should be of great help there if his powers are anything as they were before.'

'Perhaps,' said Shan'do, 'when will we be able to move on Felwood?'

'I am gathering our forces for the assault as we speak.' said Tyrande 'It should take a few days, but soon we will move to purge the demonic taint from that land.'

'I do not like that Illidan has been allowed to roam free.' said Malfurion. 'There is no telling what mischief he may get up to. He is far too reckless.'

'Whatever the case,' said Tyrande, 'we cannot afford to move against Felwood until we are ready. We will secure our hold over Ashenvale and hope that Illidan may do the same for Felwood.'

* * *

It was a swamp of green water, Illidan could feel the ground squelch beneath his feet. The stench was horrific, yet it seemed the satyr's had made themselves a village here. Already he could sense the tainted magic of their treants on an island near the center. He rushed towards it at a run, hearing the calls of their warriors as they rushed to meet him.

First came the skeletons, as always. Their bones were cleaved in moments. Illidan tore through them with an ease perfected in the War of the Ancients. Sensing a spell caster of some power casting, he raised his blade and sent a surge of dark magic. It turned the man's own magic against him. In moments he was consumed, as around Illidan the satyrs came with blades readied. Illidan summoned a surge of fire, and he heard their screams, smelled their burning flesh.

As their formation broke around him, Illidan tore through them. He hacked and slashed, ducking and weaving so that they could scarcely follow him. The lust of battle was upon Illidan as he tore through their ranks, killing everything he could sense.

Treants came against him. Yet their efforts were in vain as he reduced them to splinters with a flurry of blows. Finally walking into the center of the encampment, Illidan planted his blades. He and began to summon his full power. He felt the magic, surging through his veins, and the sheer glory of the power he possessed now ran through him.

Spreading his arms, he sent forth fire en masse. A great wall of dark fire surged from him in every direction. It consumed corrupted ancients and boiling the water of corrupted moonwells. Everything was destroyed. Stone melted, wood burned. At last Illidan stood with his surroundings burnt to ashes around him.

He felt satisfied with his work so far. Drawing up his swords, Illidan walked onwards towards the next satyr village. Somewhere to the northwest.

* * *

A contingent of doomguards marched through the dark tree. They were in a foul mood overall. And some of them wouldn't let the others forget the fact.

'Why is it that we must continually go to the aid of these miserable satyr's?' asked one. 'We might as well slay them all for the good they are doing.'

'We'll slay them if Lord Archimond commands it,' said the leader. 'and not before. For now, we'll force the wretches to get back in line, and walk them through destroying the night elves.' Then he halted.

The line behind him ground to a halt. In the path before them was a single night elf, wearing a blindfold and clad in black leather. In his hands were two double-bladed swords and he looked at them with contempt.

'Ah,' said the leader, 'our first kill for the day!' He marched forward and brought his blade down to cleave the night elf in twain.

The night elf dropped his swords and reached up. The doomguards blade stopped where it was, stuck in place. The night elf had caught it between two palms and was turning it around. Suddenly he reached further up the blade and sent it flying into the air. It spun around and landed in the night elf's hands. He brought it round to slash the doom guard leader in half with one upwards stroke.

Silence engulfed the doomguards. Then they charged with a roar. The night elf cast aside the blade in his hand, kicked his swords into the air with his foot and caught them. Then he surged past the doomguards in a blur. There was a long, long, silence.

Then suddenly bits and pieces of the doomguards began to fall off of their bodies. Little by little their whole bodies were lying in chunks on the ground. The night elf scoffed in contempt. He wiped off his blades on the grass and walked off in the direction of a satyr village.

A satyr, terrified beyond measure by what he had seen, turned and fled to the village. His family lived there.

* * *

The mood was odd amongst the sentinels. Where once they were determined to fight to the bitter end, now they were waiting. Not to die, but waiting to hear of the results of Illidan's efforts. A huntress rode hurriedly back into the night elven village. Her panther was sweating from exertion.

'General Feathermoon!' cried the huntress. 'Illidan Stormrage had annihilated an entire bastion of the satyr's. The entire base northwest of here has been destroyed, and he's moving on to another one!'

'…This is our chance.' said Shandris. 'While Illidan is distracting the bulk of the enemy, we will move! We'll target the village northeast of here! Quickly sentinels and druids, we must strike now before our opportunity is lost!'

They dragged a ballista and the bulk of their forces to the northeast. They soon came within sight of a corrupted ancient protector. The vines which grew up it were black as night, its bark was malting, and its eyes held unholy energy.

'Fire!' cried Shandris.

The ballista launched glaive after glaive. Soon the satyrs and skeletons came running. The archers shot them down as they came, and the huntresses and druids of the claw met them in battle. As the ancient weathered the ballista. It launched great stones and one of them crushed an archer near Shandris.

Yet all too soon a blade beheaded the creature, and it fell to dust before their eyes. A great cheer broke out amongst the sentinels and they rushed upon the satyr village to assault it head on. Fighting raged between the two sides that lasted for well over a day. Finally, the satyr's had been defeated. Taking torches, the night elves forced the women and children of the satyr's into their houses. They barricaded the entrance's and set them aflame.

Screams could be heard from within as the village was burnt steadily to ashes. Shandris took satisfaction from the destruction of the abominations. Turning to her warriors, she spoke aloud: 'You've all done well! Let us return to the village and prepare for a second assault!'

* * *

Marigore the satyr was woken from her night's sleep. Her father, Zalan burst into her tent and awoke her, a frantic look in his eye. 'Marigore, you must get up! Get your brothers and sisters and flee!'

Marigore arose. 'What is it? What has happened?'

'Illidan Stormrage has returned!' said Zalan. 'He's coming here now!'

'Illidan…' said Marigore as she got up. 'I thought he was only a legend.'

'He lives,' said Zalan, 'he has destroyed three villages already! We've sent for aid from Tichondrius, but the legion does not look kindly on failure! The elder has ordered an evacuation of everyone who can't fight. Find your brothers and sisters and run.'

It was happening so quickly. She knew not what to say. 'Father, I love you.'

'Then find them and go!' said Zalan

Only a few warriors had been assigned to escort the refugees and keep order. They made their way through the darkened woods, making for another of the satyr villages. However, as they came to a cliff overlooking their village, they paused to look on. If victory were achieved, none of this would be necessary.

So they watched, they watched as a lone figure charged against everything they had. At first, they thought him mad. Yet as he tore through their defenders. He burned their treants and slaughtered everything that opposed him. And they knew that his reputation had not gone without reasons.

* * *

A nightmare of the past had come down from legend. Even now slaughtered its way through their brothers and sisters. Though not all had yet been killed, the result was in no doubt. Already many of the warriors had begun to flee into the woods. Xavus did not blame them, against such power they were helpless. Far better to live another day.

'Xavus!' snapped Chieftain Xalgus. 'Get them up!'

'Let them rest a moment,' said Xavus, looking at the shattered remnants of his people. Many were weeping. Others simply stood silent. Their homes and friends lost by the onslaught of Illidan Stormrage.

'The night elves will not be far behind!' snapped Xalgus. 'We must reach the outlying villages before that happens!'

Bitter weeping could be heard amongst the refugees as old and young were forced to stand. They began traveling from the burning hellscape which had once been their home. Many would not survive the journey, reflected Xavus sadly. As he walked alongside them, he saw his great-grandfather stumble, only to be helped up by his sister.

On they traveled, keeping knives close. They hoped against hope that the sentinels would not catch them.

The cursed moon shone down upon them. Several times they saw shadows surging through the trees. Yet by miracle or simple luck, no attack came.

* * *

Arthas surveyed through a shade the absolute carnage left in the wake of the Demon Hunter. The Demon Hunter he had unleashed. Even now Illidan was making his way over the ashes of his enemies towards the Legion's stronghold. The same stronghold surrounding the Skull of Gul'dan. He realized that his jaw was open in sheer shock and he shut it.

He glanced at the acolyte. 'Light and darkness! What the hell was that?!'

'Illidan… certainly has lived up to his reputation hasn't he, milord.' said an acolyte.

'No, really?!' asked Arthas, trying to comprehend the sheer destruction. 'Has… has everyone been evacuated?'

'Yes master.' said the acolyte. 'Everyone is clear. When you slay Tichondrius, there will be no one for the Legion to enact retribution on.'

'To think that I was worried we'd be missed.' said Arthas. 'This is not what I expected.'

'What did you think he would do?' asked Serena.

'I… I thought he'd stage a sudden raid, do a smash and grab then take a defensive position.' said Arthas. 'That's what I would do with these odds.'

The acolyte surveyed the utter ruin which had been made of the villages. The shade followed Illidan, sending what it saw and heard through to their own eyes. 'I believe he may be better at theft than you are.'

Once again Illidan was launching a single-handed assault upon the enemy. This time he seemed troubled. For he found himself facing the elites of the satyrs. There were also powerful ancients. He hacked and slashed, yet they did not die with the same frequency. And wounds had begun to appear on the Demon Hunters chest, and all his flames could not deter them.

Doomguards came down from the hills and attacked him. For a moment Arthas thought Illidan would be overwhelmed. At that moment the sentinels came out of the woods in great ranks. Arrows were launched to slay many. Druids of the claw and huntresses rushed to battle, hacking and slashing into the satyrs. The night elves savagery combined with Illidan's sheer power soon turned the tide.

The line caved, but the satyr's and demons fought on nonetheless. They continued to do battle, making the night elves fight for every step.

Illidan, however, slipped away from the carnage and made his way up the hill to where the Skull of Gul'dan stood. Arthas mounted Invincible. 'I'm going to finish the hunt. I'm certain I know how this ends.'

Turning the skeletal horse, he rode off into the darkness.

* * *

As the carnage waged beneath him, Illidan made his way up to the place where he sensed the Skull of Gul'dan. Its power was massive, and there was a terrible consciousness within it. He scarcely noticed the doomguards as he stepped aside from their clumsy strikes. He them down with ease, before walking over their corpses.

Coming near to the Skull, he sensed the power within it, sensed the power entering into it. The energy of the land itself was being drawn into the Skull, no doubt for some wicked purpose of the Legions.

'Now at least the demons will no longer corrupt the forest.' said Illidan. 'But if I destroy the Skull and claim its powers as my own, I will become stronger than any of Archimonde's lieutenants.' He knew this to be true.

He remained silent for a long moment. 'Yes… the power should be mine.' And he raised his sword to strike it. Yet something stopped him. The words of the human echoed in his mind, bringing him pause. It was right there. He could claim it!

Yet what of his desire to prove his brother wrong? Malfurion would never listen to any justifications he might have had. And Tyrande would listen to him. She always listened to him. His every nerve demanded he satiate his hunger, to destroy the Skull and take its power for his own. He drew back his hands.

Yet…

 _'Just as the blade rends flesh, so must power scar the spirit.'_

If those words rang true, then Illidan was scarred beyond all recognition. He had sought power all his life, and for what? It suddenly occurred to him that if his lust for power had been less, then he might have avoided much. No, no restoring the Well of Eternity had not just been an action seeking power, it was the right thing to do.

For the sake of all sentient life, he'd had to do it. Taking the power of this Skull, he could do untold damage to the Legion.

Whispers echoed in his mind from the skull. Illidan realized that some twisted remnant of its former master now remained within. There was much knowledge and power to be gained from this thing. He stood transfixed for a moment. Torn between his own lust for power, and his desire to prove his brother wrong. Then he realized that if he took up the Skull, it might alienate Tyrande. And that was all he needed to know.

'Damn Furion for making me do this.' hissed Illidan, before striking the skull.

The Skull of Gul'dan shattered. As it broke the malign intelligence which he had destroyed washed over him. It filled his thoughts with its memories and power. Illidan accepted these, incorporating them into his thoughts.

Yet he rejected the power, though it filled him with terrible regret and anger. He rejected it and let it pass away from him, flowing back into the land which it had been drained from. And then he was left alone, standing upon a forsaken hilltop surrounded by the corpses of his enemies.

He felt empty. More empty than he ever had in his life.

Yet at least the ghosts of Felwood might rest easy. For now.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

Okay, so not only was this chapter heavily delayed it was also way too short for my liking. The truth is that a Destiny of Flame and Sorrow doesn't have all that much in the way of a plot. There are no subquests. Only endless battles with the satyrs and eventually assassinating Tichondrius.

I decided to break it into two separate chapters. Tichondrius is pretty important and he deserves a proper final stand. Truth be told I didn't bother to play the original map. It was a decision made because I wanted Illidan to wipe out the map singlehanded.

Now you may be asking why?

There is never any explanation as to why the night elves were following Illidan. Nor was there a single moment where said Druids and Sentinels made any attempt to stop Illidan. Nor did they have a problem with taking orders from demon form Illidan.

This isn't Prince Arthas, who has already earned the loyalty of his army. This is the Night Elf counterpart to Satan coming right out of nowhere. A person they have been raised to hate and despise, turning into a demon and saying 'follow my orders.'

Thus I decided to have Illidan not actually be in command of anyone. Instead, he is simply in the same place as the sentinels fighting the satyrs. Any cooperation on their part is coincidental.

More than anything I wanted to establish Illidan as the Achilles of the Night Elves. Someone so deadly that even badasses like Maive dare not confront him without backup. He is, after all, Arthas' most famous rival, and I wanted to establish just why.

Unfortunately, this left me with the task of describing Illidan destroying five villages. And I had to do it without it getting boring. I eventually settled on having each battle be from a different perspective. One from Illidan's perspective. One from the night elves perspective. One from the satyr's perspective and finally one from Arthas' perspective.


	13. A Destiny of Flame and Sorrow Part 3

**Chapter 11: A Destiny of Flame and Sorrow Part 3**

The encampment of Tichondrius was set upon an island in the middle of a shallow lake. It was surrounded by swampland and bogs. The once healthy turf upon it had become blackened and withered by unholy magic. It had been turned into a mighty fortress of black stone. There were two great gates with a golden symbol of a demons head upon them. Within those walls, two great demon gates had been raised. Demons were continually summoned from it. Amidst his deliberations, Tichondrius was worried.

'The satyr villages have fallen! The Skull of Gul'dan has fallen! The whole of Felwood has fallen!' roared a doomguard captain in near panic. 'All warriors ready yourselves for battle!'

The doomguards were afraid. They were afraid of the eaves of the forest which gaped around them like giant maws. They were afraid of the night elves who had been slaughtering them one by one. They were afraid of Illidan Stormrage. Their courage was failing them.

'Calm yourself fool.' said Tichondrius. 'I have already sent out scouts to search for the enemy army. We will know when they are coming.'

'Y-yes Lord Tichondrius.' said the doomguard.

The situation was a bad one. Felwood had all but fallen, and even if he were to hold it, Lord Archimond would not be pleased. Tichondrius needed to do something to redeem himself. He had to capture Arthas Menethil.

Then, there was a horn call. It rang long and shrill, and then came to a halt. A doomguard rushed forward. 'Lord Tichondrius, the death knight is here!' Tichondrius teleported for the walls and saw before him his enemy. He was riding back and forth, just out of arrow shot. He lowered the horn from his lips.

'Tichondrius!' he called in wrath, his voice echoing throughout the land. 'Come out and face me! Is the Lord of the Nathrezim so cowardly that he must hide behind the legions of his minions? Rather than fight his own battles?! How many more of your soldiers must I annihilate before you confront me, slavemaster! Face me! Or cower in your fortress and huddle in darkness!'

Around him, Felwood seemed to darken, as though by his command. Tichondrius looked to his warriors. He realized that he could not now deny the challenge in front of the common soldiers. They were afraid. The Legion was afraid. Azeroth had been more difficult to conquer than ten other worlds. And Tichondrius knew why. The Legion sewed discord, inspired the mortals to tear each other to shreds. Then it finished off the winners.

Yet that hadn't happened here. And yet it had. Yet they had not waged a war of annihilation. They had avoided destroying each other. Their mercy had resulted in all of this. It had done more damage to the dreadlords designs than a thousand armies could have. And now it had come to this. The mighty doomguards too terrified to face one man. The legions mortal servants decimated. And Arthas Menethil riding before Tichondrius' own gate in defiance.

Suddenly Tichondrius was very angry. He would not stand for this humiliation. He teleported down there without thinking and drew out his sword. It was a massive blade, nearly as long as he was tall, and he had not used it for many ages. Yet he would use it today. Arthas halted before him and dismounted, motioning for his horse to ride some ways away.

'This will be our battleground, Death Knight.' said Tichondrius.

Arthas regarded him. 'Before we begin, you should know that-'

Tichondrius was too angry to let him finish. The Dreadlord leaped forward and brought down his sword. Frostmourne narrowly blocked it. Tichondrius roared as he drove Arthas back before an onslaught of rapid blows. Turning Frostmourne to one side, he swung around the blade. The Death Knight ducked just in time.

Tichondrius settled for bashing him across the face with his pommel. It sent him falling to the ground; blood spilled from his face. The Dreadlord brought down his sword, but the death knight rolled away just in time to avoid behind cut in half. The human began to stand, warding off a blow from Tichondrius in the process. Cheers sounded from the demons atop the fortress as the Death Knight was forced to yield ground.

Yet Tichondrius checked himself. It would not do to become overtired in this engagement. Best to hold back for a bit. 'It was you who directed Illidan to the Skull of Gul'dan wasn't it?' he asked.

'Yes,' said Arthas, 'how did you know?'

'You are the only entity with knowledge of the Legions inner workings.' said Tichondrius. 'It seems that I will have to redouble my purges of the Cult of the Damned once this is over.'

'You won't get the chance!' said Arthas, before going on the offensive.

Tichondrius parried and blocked his blows. He remembered his old strength as he dodged and weaved. Though the death knight was skilled, he lacked experience. Tichondrius allowed him to continue his assault only to tire him. Faster and faster their blades went until Arthas overextended himself. Then Tichondrius slashed upwards with his sword.

Arthas stepped back at the last moment, and so was not cut in half. Instead, a long slash marked his chest as he staggered back. Tichondrius could feel the life energy entering him as it was drained from the death knight. He switched his sword to another hand and smiled. Now Tichondrius remembered now the old battle lust which he had once enjoyed so. Other Dreadlords had considered it distasteful, unnatural. But there had been a time when Tichondrius had led charges with a fury approaching that of Pit Lords.

'Did you truly believe this would be easy?' asked Tichondrius.

'You know actually I did.' admitted Arthas, before raising his sword.

There was a flash, and Tichondrius reeled back screaming. The light! Arthas had summoned the light to burn him! In rage, the dreadlord put forth one hand and unleashed a barrage of dark fire. It poured itself down upon the death knight, burning everything in its proximity to a cinder. Yet suddenly there was a flaring of light, and the fire clear to reveal a divine shield.

'Impossible…' said Tichondrius, 'no one can wield both the power of light and dark!'

'I just did.' said Arthas with a smile.

The divine shield shattered and Arthas leaped into combat. Back and forth the two wielders of unholy magic fought. Magic was pitted against magic, sword against sword. Neither was able to gain an advantage over the other. This was not going well for Tichondrius. He knew as he ducked and weaved that Arthas might well emerge victoriously.

He did not like using resources he could not renew, but the time had come to play his trump card.

Tichondrius leaped back a pace as Arthas pursued. Then he raised one hand with the seed Kirrassan had given him. Channeling darkness into them, the seed swelled up and grew tendrils. Tichondrius leaped skyward and hurled the growing creature at Arthas. The Death Knight swung his sword at it. Yet Frostmourne passed straight through the beast. It clamped itself around Arthas' chest, its tendrils wrapping themselves around him.

The death knights arms went limp as his eyes became distant and he stared into nothingness — a simple and uncharacteristic smile of contentment upon his face. Tichondrius unsummoned his sword with a sigh of relief, for it, had been a very difficult battle. He had been out of practice. Even so, it had been satisfying to return to the time of his misspent youth for only a moment. Then again the younger Tichondrius never would have used the seeds. He was wiser now, as well as older.

'Lord Tichondrius,' said a doomguard, 'reinforcements from the nether have arrived.'

The Dreadlord regarded the legion which had come forth. It numbered nearly a thousand. With his present forces, he now had almost three thousand men at his disposal. He looked around, noticing the flat nature of this terrain. There was nowhere in these wetlands for the night elves to hide. Even so, the numbers he possessed here were paltry. At least compared to the numbers Kazzak had commanded earlier.

'I…' the doomguard paused fearfully. 'I am sorry that there are not as many as you requested. However, there have been many fronts which we have had to fight at.'

'This will be sufficient.' said Tichondrius.

The legion was running on fumes. By this point, their entire vanguard had been almost annihilated. More and more reinforcements had been called in time and again. He could not say it, but the truth was clear. If the battle continued as it was going, then the Legion would run out of manpower. To take Azeroth by brute force would be their end. 'Gather all our forces, have them withdraw back to this location.

'The night elves have grown overconfident with their success. What they fail to realize is that thus far they have only faced the very weakest of our kind. When we meet them here, we will crush them, and slay all of them.' It was a flat-out lie of course, but it was what they needed to hear.

'What of Illidan Stormrage?' asked the doomguard.

'I will kill him myself.' said Tichondrius.

Hours passed as all the forces of the Legion remaining in felwood were gathered together. They knew that if they failed here, there would be no survivors. Archimond would butcher anyone who returned from a failure of this magnitude. So they called more reinforcements and prepared themselves. Waiting for the night elves to come.

And the night elves came, emerging from the forests of Felwood. Huntresses and Druids of the Claw in bear form marched forward. Archers came behind them, and at their head stood Illidan Stormrage, blades in both hands. 'The death knight said you would be here. This is where your invasion ends, demon. Trapped and surrounded in a blighted wasteland of your own making. With all the world to know the tale of your defeat.'

Then he charged. And the night elves charged with him. The demons roared their war cries and rushed to meet them. Hellhounds and bears tore and mauled each other to death. Doomguards cleaved down huntresses, only to be shot with arrows. Imps shot fireballs into the archer's ranks, burning them. Succubi slashed at their enemies. Many night elves died in moments, yet they took with them a number of demons for their trouble. Even so, things were turning against the night elves.

Yet Illidan Stormrage entered the fray, and all that began to change. He killed demon after demon with an ease that dwarfed comprehension. Tichondrius knew he must be taken from the fray. He stood by the helpless Arthas and sent forth a message.

 _'Demon hunter!'_ he called into Illidan's mind. _'Face me here, and I will break you.'_

As the fray raged, Illidan turned his attention to Tichondrius. He made his way quickly through the fray. The demons let him through, allowing him to come to the Dreadlord. Thus the night elves primary advantage was denied them, that was the good news. The bad news was that Tichondrius would have to face Illidan Stormrage. Best to stall for time.

The blind night elf noticed Arthas. 'I had thought all of those creatures destroyed.'

'As did I.' said Tichondrius. 'I wonder what he is seeing. Likely he is ruling this miserable world. Or perhaps he is merely surrounded by the flames of all those who have wronged him. The man lives for revenge, you see. Any assistance he might have rendered you was purely for his own ends.'

'Whatever his intentions, you will die by my hand.' said Illidan. 'In doing so, I will prove to my people that your kind has no hold over me.'

'An interesting proposition.' said Tichondrius. 'However, you must realize that your quest is futile. Destroying the Legion will not ingratiate you to the druids. It will simply make them view you as a greater threat. Once they have no further use for you, they will cast you out.'

Illidan remained silent and looked to the brutal conflict. The demons had driven the night elves out and were pursuing them into the darkness. They were now quite alone. 'Make your point, demon?'

'Why don't you come work for me.' said Tichondrius. 'Mannaroth is dead, and Lord Archimonde would be looking for someone to replace him. Your achievements are legendary, and you have been a friend to the legion as well as a foe in the past. In time you might become the most powerful of all Archimond's lieutenants.

'Tell me, why should you continue to serve those who made you outcast? Those who imprisoned you for ten thousand years. What do you owe them? And what do you hope to gain by serving them further.'

For a long time, Illidan did not answer. 'Nothing.' he said, before drawing his swords.

Then he attacked. Tichondrius summoned his blade and was driven back before an onslaught of strikes. Illidan fought with untold savagery, and fire licked up around him, burning Tichondrius. Yet the dreadlord held his ground, and turned the tide, unleashing an assault of his own. The two fought in mortal combat.

Finally, Tichondrius leaped into the air, his wings beating the air around him. 'I tire of these games. Thus far I have only used a fraction of my true power. Now you will see my full might!' He dove down towards Illidan, and their weapons met.

* * *

Illidan was thrown off his feet, but turned in midair and landed on his feet. He narrowly leaped over a strike that would have cut him in half and slashed down. Yet it was in vain, for Tichondrius disappeared in the green mist. Then he reappeared behind him and slashing him across the back. Bleeding Illidan fell forward and caught himself. He rolled forward in time to avoid behind impaled by Tichondrius' sword.

Turning around, Illidan was breathing heavily. A pause then came in the combat.

He should have taken up the Skull of Gul'dan. With its power he could have overwhelmed this demon, he would have been more than its equal. Yet it was too late for that now. Illidan had no choice but to keep fighting as he was. The pain of his wounds was terrible. Yet the demon did not exploit the opportunity he had.

'I would offer you the chance to reconsider.' said Tichondrius. 'You know you are no match for me, little night elf. Join the Legion, or share the fate of all who defy it.'

Illidan knew the best way to save his own life was to join them. Yet his pride would not allow it. He would not allow the lies his brother had spread about him to become the truth. Not while he still had breath in his body. '…You have no hold over me creature.' said Illidan, forcing himself to his feet.

'Then die where you stand.' said Tichondrius.

The dreadlord charged, and Illidan knew full well who would emerge the victor on this day.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Bit of a shorter chapter today. I decided I wanted the next installment to be all one chapter unto itself. In retrospect maybe I should have just added this to the last chapter. Oh well, too late to go back now. This chapter provided additional character development for Tichondrius. I kind of like the idea of Tichondrius being a blood knight.

This chapter was actually really hard to write. I'm not sure why. It took me forever to come up with a beginning that worked, and even now I'm not exactly satisfied with it. Even so, I've delayed posting this thing for way too long as it is. I'll edit it later. Oh and a cliffhanger ending.


	14. The Death of a Dream

**Chapter Twelve: The Death of a Dream**

Sunlight shone through the gap between the drapes, straight onto Arthas' face. He turned in his bed, trying to avoid the light and instead saw something far more easy on the eyes. Jaina was lying there, looking quite adorable as she slept. Her eyes opened and looked into his. 'Is it morning already?'

'It's morning.' said Arthas with a smile.

'Ugh…' she said. 'I can never seem to stop staying up late.'

'How are things going on the cure anyway?' asked Arthas.

'I'm not talking about that while I'm still in bed.' moaned Jaina.

Things had become oddly calm in Lordaeron since the defeat of Ma'ganis. Falric and Marwynn were off commanding the final defeat of the Scourge remnants. In the aftermath of the Northrend campaign, Arthas and Jaina had been married. Now, several years later, they had taken what was largely a desk role in defending Lordaeron.

When they were both dressed, Arthas made his way over to the window. He stared out across the forests of Lordaeron as they swayed in an errant breeze. They were as beautiful as ever, and as he breathed the free air, he was reminded why he loved his homeland. Also visible was a village, a place still prosperous despite the recent upheavals. He could see a group of children running and playing. Their laughter echoed through the pines. And in the distance was Lordaeron City, his city.

He sighed. 'The forests are healing well. Or so the reports tell me.'

'Well it helps that with all the defeats you've dealt the scourge, we can focus on healing it.' said Jaina.

'I'm barely involved anymore.' said Arthas. 'Sometimes I feel like I should be. I need to-' He halted mid-sentence, feeling as though something wasn't right. The sky seemed to darken, and the trees looked far darker. The children looked like skeletons dancing on graves. He reached for his sword on reflex.

Sword. He was a paladin; he used a hammer.

'Is something wrong, Arthas?' asked Jaina, setting an arm to his shoulder.

'I…' Arthas paused, 'nothing bad dreams I guess.'

'Let me see if I can distract you from that.' said Jaina, before kissing him.

He kissed back and put it from his mind.

The meeting was held within an Arcane Sanctum in a circular room with a round table. The head researcher of the operation sat in a tall chair, a book before him. 'Research on the cure is progressing well. With the bulk of the scourge defeated, we've implemented a new system to monitor the grain supply. It's doubtful that the scourge will be able to conduct any new offensives.

'You seem distant, Prince Arthas?'

He was not sure why, but Arthas could not help but feel something was out of place. The black-bearded wizard before him was dressed in a blue robe and looked odd somehow. As though there was something about him which was not at all right. And with that sense came the other sense that nothing was right.

'Prince Arthas?' asked the wizard.

'…Nothing Kel'thuzad, keep up the good work.' said Arthas. 'Has there been any word from the Silver Hand?'

'The last of the undead in Stratholme have been rooted out.' said Kel'thuzad. 'The dead of the city have been almost completely burned.'

'Good, that's good, anything else?' said Arthas.

'Nothing really, things have been going very smoothly.' said Jaina. 'Is something wrong? You've been acting odd.'

'Yes, no, I mean…' began Arthas. 'I can't shake the feeling that there is something we're missing here. Something that could ruin all this.'

'Well I expect we all feel that way sometimes.' said Kel'thuzad.

'I mean it,' said Arthas, 'something is wrong here!' He was absolutely certain in that statement.

'Don't be foolish, no one can see the future.' said Kel'thuzad, voice chiding. 'Need I remind you of another such wild speculation. A madman was screaming in the streets of every major city that the land of Lordaeron was doomed. There was panic among some towns.'

'I nearly brought a whole group of people across the sea.' said Jaina. 'If word of your victory hadn't come just then I'd be on another continent right now.'

'But what if he was right?' said Arthas. 'What if something else is coming?' He paused as his gaze fell on Jaina. 'I've been on the campaign trail for too long.'

'We've all been under a great deal of stress lately.' mused Kel'thuzad. 'It would be for the best if we adjourned for a time.'

'Yes,' said Arthas, 'you are right.'

The stables were well maintained, and the horses were well treated in Lordaeron. The knights of Lordaeron were the greatest among the Alliance. Arthas had a great deal of affection for the horses. As he patted his steed Invincible, he tried to distance himself from the feeling he had. When he concentrated, he felt as though the whole stable surrounding him would fall away. For a moment he suddenly thought that Invincible's head was looking very skeletal. Drawing back his hand, the sensation of falsehood grew ever stronger.

'Ah, lad, I thought I might find you here.' said a voice.

Arthas looked up and smiled. 'Uther, I wasn't aware you were still in active duty.'

'I'm not.' said Uther. 'Your father sent me to tell you he wants to speak with you at once.'

'What are you doing running messages?' asked Arthas. 'There has got to be a better use for your time.'

'It's a very important matter.' said Uther. 'Though I can't say for sure. And in any case with all the damage you did to the scourge, there isn't much to do. I thought I might stretch my legs and get away from staff work.'

'I see.' said Arthas, feeling a bit distant. 'That makes sense.'

'Are you alright lad?' asked Uther. 'You look a little pale.'

'I just… I keep remembering Stratholme, what I did.' admitted Arthas. 'What… what I had to do.'

'You did what you had to do lad.' said Uther. 'It wasn't pleasant, but if you hadn't acted the whole nation might have fallen.'

Arthas looked at him in shock. 'I never expected to hear you say that.'

'Even I can be wrong.' admitted Uther. 'I… I thought about the situation. I suppose that there is a difference between being a prince, and being a paladin. And you choose to be a prince when the situation called for it. It wasn't pretty, but it had to be done.'

'Yes, it had to be done.' This wasn't right. This wasn't right at all.

'Lad, I'm proud of you.' said Uther.

Arthas was thrown from his thoughts by that. 'What?'

'I just felt I ought to say it while I had the courage.' said Uther. 'I am proud of you. I know we had our disagreements, but it doesn't change the facts.'

Never before in Arthas' life had he needed to hear something so badly and yet never realized it. As he looked at his mentor, the man who had been a second father to him, he found his doubts and worries be washed away. 'I… thank you, Uther. You are the greatest man I have ever met. I mean it. To serve alongside you, to be trained by you, it was the best thing that ever happened to me.' Then he hugged him.

Uther returned the gesture before it was broken. Arthas sighed. 'I… I should see what Father has to say that's so important. I've had a bad feeling about things lately. I feel as though something is going to go wrong.'

'I know the feeling lad, I've felt it many times.' said Uther. 'Most of the time its nerves. You learn to live with it. Now you had better get going, your father will want to speak with you.'

'Yes, yes,' said Arthas.

They parted ways, and as Arthas left the stable, he halted. The forest for a moment seemed far darker, and he heard a growling sound. Looking in its direction he saw nothing, and the birds continued to chirp happily. Too happily.

'This isn't right.' he said to himself, though he did not know why.

He got his horse and began the ride towards Lordaeron City. It wasn't far, and wouldn't take much longer than a few hours to reach the capital. He knew he should have told Jaina, but he felt detached. Something was weighing on his heart.

As he rode throughout the villages that lay between his home and the castle, he saw children laughing. He saw women and men and boys and girls who rushed out to see him go by. He had the love of his people, Lordaeron was recovering. The future looked bright. And so he shoved aside his doubts and enjoyed the time for what it was. He had earned this, they all had.

Mal'ganis was dead. The scourge was in retreat. The Burning Legions plans had been foiled.

Yet… he kept hearing whispers.

* * *

Outside the dream, Illidan was failing. The onslaught of Tichondrius' power was beating him down as he struggled to meet each new blow as it came. It would be only a matter of time now. He would tire, or he would make a mistake, and Tichondrius would finish him. Driven by sheer desperation, Illidan blocked a strike. He slashed at the demon's throat.

Tichondrius stepped back and slammed him down with one claw. Illidan hit the ground, groaning as the pain from the slash wound which had been dealt to him. Tichondrius reached down and seized him by the throat and lifted him up. Illidan reeled beneath the force of the blow, his head swimming. 'Know that once I have killed you, I will find the most agonizing of ends for your pathetic species.'

Tyrande…

Illidan kicked him in the face. Freeing himself from Tichondrius' grasp, he drawing up his glaives. The demon hunter launched a new flurry of strikes with a strength he did not know he'd had. The dreadlord yielded ground, taking a wound to the hand. Then he halted, and returned to the offensive with strikes of his own.

Illidan was put back on the defensive, and this time he stayed there.

And all the while the Death Knight stood there. His runeblade was whispering, and his smile had disappeared.

* * *

Arthas entered the Lordaeron Throne Room again, opening one door slowly so as to not make a racket. There was an air of tranquility and ancient wisdom within the room. There were no guards within it now, nor did the Alliance Council stand in the surrounding areas. There was only King Terenas, sitting in his throne and looking through documents.

As Arthas approached, King Terenas looked up and smiled. 'Ah son, I knew Uther would get the message through.'

'He said this was important.' said Arthas. 'What is it, Father?'

There was a long silence. '…I'm old son.' said King Terenas after a moment. 'I know I'm middle aged, but the strain of these years has taken its toll on me. I'd like to think that I was qualified to bear the weight of this crown but… I've made many mistakes recently.' His eyes grew distant. 'Too many, if I had only sealed off the northlands… so many lives might have been saved.

'I think that the time has come for me to pass-'

'Stop.' Arthas knew what he was going to say.

'Son?' asked King Terenas.

More than anything Arthas wanted to say it was nothing. More than anything Arthas wanted to let him finish, to return home. Yet… he could no longer remain silent. He knew what he had to do. What he had done, even if the memory would not summon itself. It was as though he could see the thousands of ghosts surrounding him. Was this a figment of trauma from the things he had had to do? Or was it a phantom representing the truth.

A voice promised to help him forget. To take away all the unpleasant and horrible things he had done and would do. Yet he could not. He had no right to. He looked at his father and spoke. 'Father, when I got back from Northrend it was the proudest moment of my life. Mal'ganis was dead, the scourge shattered. The people were happy, cheering my name not for who I was, but for what I had done. I finally felt worthy of the love of the people, finally felt worthy of… everything I'd been given.' He shook his head. 'But… I don't think it really happened that way.'

'Arthas, I'm worried about you.' said Terenas. 'You need to put the past behind you.'

'No, I… I don't want to worry you but...' said Arthas, scarcely able to speak. 'You are the greatest King our people have ever had. This… this is the world I always wanted. But… I have a duty to see this through to the end, and I have to… leave…'

The blade was in his hand, a familiar blade whose whispers were speaking to him.

Frostmourne.

The blade slid through the heart of King Terenas smoothly and without resistance. The King gasped, and Arthas reached round to clutch the King to him. Blood seeped onto the Prince's armor, black armor inlaid with skulls.

'Why…' breathed Terenas.

'I want you to know…' said Arthas. 'I'm proud to be your son.'

And as King Terenas breathed his last the city of Lordaeron fell. Its buildings were burnt to ashes as unholy monsters fell upon the crowds. The forests, the woods, and the trees were blackened. The ground was blighted, and one by one the Paladins died by the hand of the Lich King's champion. The memories flowed before Arthas, and then he woke up.

* * *

He woke up. His eyes blinked open as for a moment he felt himself regaining control over his body. The plant which had clutched him had been cut in half. It was lying on the ground, the last spasms of its life going through it. Then he heard the sound of steel on steel and looked up to where Illidan was on the ground. Tichondrius was raising his sword to kill him. Tichondrius…

A feral roar came from Arthas as he rushed at the dreadlord. Tichondrius scarcely had time to react before Frostmourne nearly took his head off. The sword in Tichondrius' hand was beaten down. Arthas raked him across the leg, before punching him in the face with a gauntlet. The blow sent the dreadlord reeling and drawing blood.

'You bastard!' snarled Arthas, driving the dreadlord back and inflicting one wound after another. Only the dreadlord's armor had saved him from Frostmourne.

Tichondrius caught his wrist. Then he drove his sword forward to drive it through Arthas' chest. The pain was horrible, made worse by the sensation of life force being drained from him. But it was nothing compared to his rage.

'You were trapped.' said Tichondrius, twisting the blade. 'And unable to escape without sacrificing everything you ever wanted.' He twisted the blade, before drawing, and letting Arthas fall to one knee. 'It was like purging Stratholme all over again, wasn't it?'

Arthas roared and lashed out blindly, hitting Tichondrius on the shoulder. The dreadlord's armor bent as a crack was heard, and the demon screamed in pain as he stumbled back. Arthas pressed the offensive, striking again and again, but keeping his head this time. One armed, Tichondrius retreated. He leaped into the air and flying to gain some distance while casting a spell of summoning.

Before Arthas could pursue, a fiery meteor surged down from the skies and crashed before him. A massive infernal arose and brought its fist towards Arthas. The death knight cut the arm from the creature's body. Then he leaped into the air and cutting it in half with one downward stikre. It collapsed to dust as Arthas rushed by.

Tichondrius had not been idle. The dreadlord had set his broken bones and healed some of his wounds. Now he charged to meet Arthas with a cry of bloodlust on his lips, which Arthas returned. Their weapons flared with dark magic. An explosion of unholy energy raked the ground beneath their feet. Arthas had a cut beneath his left eye, while Tichondrius had sustained a wound to his side. Yet these did nothing to stop them from wheeling round and meeting blade to blade again. There was a collision between their swords as in bitter hatred. The two combatants dueled in a contest of skill, hatred, and brute strength.

Then Tichondrius shoved Arthas back and raised one hand. There was a surge of unholy fire engulfed Arthas who cried out in pain as it burned him. He landed as the pain surged through his whole body, and forced himself to stand. Yet Tichondrius was already on him. He scarcely parried a slash, before being kicked in the face and sent falling back. The death knight spat out blood as he forced himself to his knees.

Tichondrius rushed to finish him, bringing down his sword toward his face. Arthas rolled aside and rose to lash out with Frostmourne. Tichondrius stepped back in time, and the blade went too shallow. But it sliced along the dreadlord's face and slashed out his right eye. The dreadlord roared and stumbled back, as both breathed in exhaustion.

'For Kel'thuzad!' gasped Arthas.

'Who?' asked Tichondrius, wiping the blood from his ruined eye.

'The Lich who summoned Archimonde!' roared the death knight.

'I wasn't aware you cared so much about the subordinates you routinely betray!' snapped back Tichondrius 'It's a shame I didn't know he mattered to you. I could have drawn out his death a bit!'

The words shook Arthas, for he had betrayed Kel'thuzad. Just as he had betrayed Lordaeron, betrayed Jaina and Muradin and so many others. And for what? Just revenge? Who in all the world had he not betrayed?

Sensing his distraction, Tichondrius surged forward and knocked Frostmourne from his hand. Then he gripped him by the throat and pulling back his own blade. 'And the rest of your subjects will die a long death. Know that as you enter the abyss, paladin!'

In that moment Arthas knew it didn't matter what he had done. What mattered was that the Burning Legion had to be stopped. So he put both his hands to Tichondrius' face and summoned the light. It surged from his being, from the light, and he poured all his hatred, his despair, his grief. He sent forth everything else that made him who he was. He poured it all into a single onslaught of light focused against the dreadlord's face.

 **'NEVER!'** he cried.

The scream of absolute horror and pain was quite satisfying. Arthas fell back with a faint smile on his face as he hit the ground, his vision going white. For a moment he lay there, aching in every inch, and feeling searing pain from his many wounds. His breath was course, and he could see nothing. After a few moments, he began to get feeling back in his body and stood up. He almost fell back to one knee.

Some time must have passed since he had landed, for a whitish blue mist had arisen over the dry ground. Seeing Frostmourne a little ways away, Arthas made his way over to it and picked it up. Then out of that mist stumbled Tichondrius. The dreadlord's entire upper half was burned as he stumbled forward. His entire body was shaking. Arthas stood there, just staring as the wretched creature approached him. He was reaching out with his claws, his eyes filled with a desperate and savage hatred. Then his strength failed him, and Tichondrius collapsed to the ground, shaking.

A surge of pitiless contempt went through Arthas. He drew back his sword and stabbed the wretched creature responsible for so much horror. Tichondrius screamed in agony, and Arthas stabbed him again. Drawing back his sword a third time, the blade was suddenly grabbed by Tichondrius. The dreadlord's claws streamed with blood.

'Now the souls…' said Tichondrius in a low snarl. 'I release!'

Frostmourne shone brilliantly, and out of it surged countless spirits. Soul after soul pouring forth from the blade into the air. Arthas stepped back as the spirits swirled around them closer and closer. The dreadlord laughed. 'Did you… truly think… we would give away such an artifact of power without insurance?! Now the spirits of those you have unjustly slain will tear you apart! In so doing the Legions victory will be assured!'

'My son may have slain us,' said the voice of King Terenas. 'but I know well who was the architect of his fall.' One of the spirits surged towards Tichondrius and shot through him. 'And even in death, I hold the hearts and minds of my people!'

The dreadlord screamed as the spirits descended upon him. They shot through him, and as they did so, they began to whisper louder and louder. Their hatred became audible.

'The Blackrock Clan served the legion to our dying breath! You betrayed us!'

'Feel the vengeance of the elves!'

'For Lordaeron! For the King!'

'By the power of the light, burn!'

The dreadlord howled in agony. As he did so, the souls he had devoured began to burst forth from his flesh. His skin began to boil as blood streamed from his eyes. On and on it went, and Arthas watched as the confident and smug dreadlord lost all control. He began to sob in sheer agony. Finally, the dreadlord fell limp, and the spirits wrath was expended. They arose into the sky and were gone.

Most of them were gone. For a moment King Terenas formed before him, a ghost much as he had been in life. He was clad in the splendor which he had held in the prime of life. Beside him was Uther, eyes hard and unforgiving. Yet in the King's eyes, Arthas saw no hatred. That was something.

'I…' he didn't not know what to say. 'I am sorry.'

It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. Nothing had been solved, but he had said it. Moments later the spirit of the dead king was gone. He was alone.

He sheathed his sword and moved to leave.

'It doesn't matter…' said a voice.

In awe Arthas looked up and saw the torn and broken form of Tichondrius, looking almost like a shadow. Blind and destroyed, the dreadlord still clung to life. 'It doesn't matter what you do. No matter how powerful you become. No matter how many demons you kill… you… you will never defeat Lord Archimonde!' The dreadlord looked up, as Arthas began to walk towards him. 'All the people you've killed… all the factions you've betrayed… it will all come to nothing! DO YOU HEAR ME ARTHAS!

 **'YOUR ACTIONS HERE MEAN NOTHING!'**

Arthas brought down Frostmourne and split his skull. And at last, at long last, Tichondrius lay still. At last, he was dead. The paladin looked at his bloodstained sword as he drew it out. The hatred which had consumed him had bled out. The vendetta which had driven him had burned away. He no longer felt angry, he was no longer consumed with anger. He felt empty.

The world was ending, and it was his fault. Ashenvale would fall, and all would come to darkness. It was as though he could see the entire thing. One long chain of events stretching back into eternity, and he was at the center of it. He had doomed his people; he had doomed everything. He had never felt so helpless as he had in that moment, standing forlorn over the corpse of his most hated enemy.

'So it is done.' said Illidan as he emerged from the mist. 'It is strange, I have killed many dreadlords, and I have never seen one hold so personal a vendetta before. He must have truly hated you.'

'It's a very long story.' said Artha. 'Maybe I'll tell it to you someday.'

'Perhaps.' said Illidan.

The mist had almost cleared now, and the mournful battlefield could be seen around them. The sun seemed to shine just a bit brighter now. Illidan looked to Arthas. 'The leaders of my people do not approve of you or the magic you wield; you had best go before they return.'

'Yes,' said Arthas, 'you are right. Invincible!'

The skeletal horse rode out of the mist and halted by Arthas, who set his foot into the stirrup and pulled himself up.

'Where will you go now?' asked Illidan. 'Back to your own kind?'

'That isn't really an option, so I have no idea.' said Arthas. 'I'm going to ride and think.' He paused. 'For what it's worth, I'm glad you didn't take up the skull.'

'…So am I.' Illidan said, seeming only just now to realize it. 'Farewell human, perhaps we will meet again.'

'Farewell.' said Arthas.

The paladin turned his horse and riding away. Thus they parted ways, and Arthas rode off into the darkness of Felwood and was lost from sight.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Okay, so we're done. This chapter was hard to write. I'm not sure why. The nature of the lotus eater machine Arthas was trapped in was difficult to pull off. Even so, Tichondrius is {finally} dead. And I think I've made it clear that Tichondrius did not get his rank for nothing. Beating Arthas, then Illidan. Then beating Arthas again while he's in an unstoppable rage. Then only being defeated by a point-blank assault of all the light Arthas can summon.

And even then he still had enough strength to survive two stabs from Frostmourne. So yeah, I'm quite pleased with what I did with Tichondrius here. His personal vendetta with Arthas resonates with me a lot. Far more than Mal'ganis and Arthas. I'm not sure exactly why, though.

I also don't like the title of this chapter. If anyone has suggestions for a better one, I'm listening.


	15. Final Temptation

**Chapter Thirteen: Final Temptation**

Malfurion and Tyrande traversed much of Felwood looking for Illidan. Yet still not found him. They had come to the darkest part of the forest expecting a prolonged battle. Instead they found endless carnage perpetuated upon the satyr's and their demon masters. Reports of Illidan's rampage could be heard from whomever they met. Every so often they would come across the burning remnants of villages put to the sword. All of them had many corpses.

Some had been destroyed by Illidan, and these were all left burning.

Others were different.

Hundreds of satyrs, men, women and children were impaled upon stakes. Their heads had been cut from shoulders and put on stakes of their own, or piled by burning structures. The broken form of a corrupted ancient of war lay upon the ground in splinters. The buildings were left without fire. Most had been looted with any doors and windows broken down. Shrines to various demons had been desecrated, a statue of Xavius had had its head and arms broken off.

'These were not destroyed by Illidan,' said Tyrande, 'it was Shandris.'

'Are you certain?' asked Malfurion.

'Illidan was alone.' said Tyrande. 'He could not have had time to do all this. And Shandris learned her craft from me. This… a few weeks ago I should have done this myself without fear or shame.'

'We have all done things which shame us, my love.' said Malfurion. 'Come, let us continue our search.'

When at last they found Illidan it was by the site of a standing stone. He had many wounds on his body, and his glaives were covered in blood by his feet. He was sitting cross-legged amidst the corpses of countless demons. His head was bowed in contemplation. As they approached, he looked up.

'Brother,' said Illidan, 'Tyrande.'

'Illidan,' said Malfurion, 'we received news of your exploits. You have done… well.'

'I am glad we choose to release you Illidan.' said Tyrande. 'You have proven yourself a true hero of the night elves.' She knew her doubts had no place at this time of war.

'The leader of the undead has been destroyed.' said Illidan. 'Though it was not I who delivered the final blow. The forests will heal in time.'

'Then the legion has been routed.' said Malfurion. 'And the satyrs shall not recover from this day for many years. Yet I fear it will be only a temporary reprieve. We must stand ready to halt the Legion when it makes its final move.'

'Then let us depart this wretched place,' said Illidan, 'and find more demons to hunt.'

The three of them departed Felwood soon after. And the word of Illidan Stormrage's deeds and valor spread throughout the night elves. Where he walked, there was now respect as well as mistrust. Many whispered that there was more merit to his ways than had been told.

And Malfurion heard these rumors and grew afraid.

* * *

For his part, Arthas rode through the woods, heedless of direction or goal. They were all going to die. Archimonde would destroy everything, and nothing Arthas could do would deter it. Like Lordaeron before it, this world would fall. And his people would be scourged from the universe forever. The crushing guilt which had before now been held back by Frostmourne was seeping back into him. The horror at what he had done, and all he had seen was all around him. He heard his breathing growing higher and higher.

Finally, he pulled Invincible to a halt in a little glade, with a small pond within it. He dismounted before falling to his knees by the water. He could see the full moon gazing down upon him, and also his reflection. His wounds had healed by now, but his armor was cracked and broken in many places. His hair had been cut on one side, by Tichondrius' blade, and his eyes were distant.

He looked like a man who had been through hell. And he had. His skin had changed, he realized. There was a bit more color in it now. Yet his hair was still as white as snow, with no sign of its previous color. It was for the best. He would never be the same again.

He heard footsteps and whirled around, blade in hand.

He said Jaina. She was standing before him, as beautiful and unassuming as ever. She had a slight smile on her face, her staff in one hand. For a moment he wondered if he was hallucinating in a bout of madness. Then the staff morphed into an axe and went straight for his throat.

He brought up Frostmourne to block the strike, followed by several others at rapid speed. This was not Jaina, he was certain of it. He pressed forward, unleashing a flurry of strikes of his own. She yielded ground before him, her smile unfading. Finally, she backflipped a ways away, spinning her weapon, and her smile widened.

'You are all that they say Arthas.' Her guise changed into that of her true form. A succubus, or so he assumed, for he had never heard of any other species so beautiful. 'I am Kirrasan of the Burning Legion, and I am here to extend you an invitation to join us.'

'…You have an odd way of giving an invitation.' said Arthas.

'Yes, well, I thought to test your reflexes.' she admitted. 'A mark of strength is ones ability to destroy that which is most important to you.'

'Jaina Proudmoore has never wielded a melee weapon in her entire life.' said Arthas. 'I knew you weren't her from the moment you drew out a battleaxe. As for your offer: Why? Mannaroth and Tichondrius are both dead by my hand.'

'We aren't big on tolerating failures.' admitted Kirrasan. 'You've been a serious inconvenience I won't deny, but its nothing we can't fix. And getting you on our side might go a long way to avoiding a repeat of this fiasco.'

'I served you once before.' said Arthas. 'It didn't work out for you.'

'Yes,' admitted Kirrasan, 'but there is a very real difference between serving, and choosing to serve. One gets you snubbed with Tichondrius taking credit for your victory. The other gets you… well… just about anything you want as long as you continue to win victories for the Legion.

'Look I'll be the first to admit that we've had something a rocky relationship. But we're impressed with your actions here, and Lord Archimonde wants to meet you. Not as master and servant. He wants to speak with you and renegotiate your terms of employment.'

For a moment Arthas was speechless. 'What possible reason could I have to join the Legion? You are trying to destroy the world, the one I live in.'

'And we're almost going to succeed.' said Kirrasan. 'Make no mistake. The moment Lord Archimonde tales action is the moment your hopes of victory are crushed. It's only a matter of time.

'However, if you choose to serve the legion, you might be able to negotiate the survival of your species. Not to mention the acolytes who serve you.'

'…Go on.' said Arthas.

'I'm offering you safe passage back to our main stronghold, where we can discuss this in greater detail.' she said. 'By doing this you may well be able to save your species from the flame.'

'And if I refuse?' asked Arthas.

'Well then I force the issue.' said Kirrasan. 'See while we've been talking, I've had a whole lot of demons surround this whole clearing. Might as well hedge my bets, y'know.' She motioned, and they emerged. 'I'm at least as powerful as Tichondrius, so I doubt even you would be able to fight your way out of this one.'

Arthas looked around. '…Very well, I will hear what Archimonde has to say.'

'Excellent,' she said, 'follow me.'

* * *

Near the coast of Ashenvale, in a wooded highland, the Legion had made its primary base of operations. Here was where the ships were held in dry dock. Here was where the fleets carrying reinforcements from Lordaeron and Northrend would arrive.

Here was where Marcus and Flint were waiting around a campfire speaking of many things. The two acolytes had been recruited by Kel'thuzad. They had been inspired by his promises of immortality. They had worked under Rivendare, and then Prince Arthas in Quel'thalas. Finally, they had been put under the Dreadlords command when it had all gone to hell. And here they were in Ashenvale, under the command of demons rather than their rightful liege. They hadn't signed up for this.

'It ain't the same y'know.' said Flint. 'When I joined up, I reckoned to be serving the Lich King. Arthas was a real leader; he didn't send us out on stupid missions. Didn't waste resources on things that didn't need em. These demons are another type.'

'Don't speak so loud.' said Marcus. 'Or the watchers might see you. Someone might report that, and then that bastard Tichondrius will… nevermind.' He shuddered.

'…You don't suppose some of those taken could have escaped, do you?' asked Flint. 'I mean, Arthas is on the move. Maybe he freed them.'

'Nah,' said Marcus, 'Arthas is doing what he can. But he's got to think of the big picture. He'll sort things out sooner or later. We'll just have to bear the whips of the demons for awhile.'

'Tichondrius is dead!' came a cry of joy.

They looked up, and they weren't the only ones. Ethan, one of their younger friends was running through the camp in delirious joy. 'Tichondrius is dead! The Lord of the Nathrezim has died by the hand of Arthas!'

'Ethan be quiet!' said Marcus. 'We can't let them hear!'

'Let them hear!' laughed Ethan. 'Their end is coming so they might as well know it!'

'Whats all this?' came a low growl.

A massive doomguard stepped forward, blade in hand. 'You pathetic creatures dare to speak ill of Tichondrius! Die now!'

'Slay me if you will!' proclaimed Ethan. 'Two of your masters are dead, and the last of them will soon follow!'

The doomguard slashed downwards, and then there was a clang. A figure, clad in battered and broken armor was standing between Ethan and the doomguard. He had an unmistakeable sword in his hand, gleaming brighter than ever before. As the doomguard saw who it was he stepped backward in obvious fear.

'Reinforcements!' he cried. 'We need reinforcements!'

'There is no need for that.' said Arthas. 'I am here to parley with Lord Archimonde. I strayed from the path to see how my subjects were fairing.'

'You think you can stand here as Archimonde's equal?!' snarled the doomguard as others crowded around him.

'I am here by his invitation.' said Arthas. 'Take your men and leave my followers in peace, and I will let the matter pass.'

The doomguards eyed each other, before glancing back to Arthas. 'Very well, but treachery will be met with death.' They turned and walked away.

Arthas turned to them, and the men were at a loss for words. 'Gentlemen, while I appreciate your faith, it would be well if you could remain silent in the near future. This war has already cost a great many of the faithful their lives, and I would grieve to see you added to it.

'Accept their reign, for now, obey your instructions. Remain faithful to your brethren, and in time you will see the renewal of the Frozen Throne.'

'Was… was what you said true?' asked Ethan. 'Are you really here to parley with Archimonde?'

'Yes,' said Arthas with a smile, 'I intend to give him the chance to surrender.'

And in that moment, though it made no sense, though it seemed impossible, they believed him. They believed that all had gone according to the plan of the Lich King. That everything they had endured was but a momentary obstacle on the path of the faithful. And they were not alone, for they could see the expressions of awe in the eyes of their comrades.

As Arthas walked back to where a succubus stood watching, cheers broke out. Cheers of joy that were foreign to the damned, and yet rang out anyway. And the mirth of those cheers lasted long, as their faith was restored.

* * *

As Arthas got back to Kirrasan the succubus eyed him. 'So… are you really planning to convince Lord Archimonde to surrender to you? Then then restore the Frozen Throne?'

'Plan?' asked Arthas. 'I'm making this up as I go.'

Archimonde smiled despite himself as he sent away the vision. He looked at the table before him, leaning back in his seat and waiting for their arrival. Essential to this plan was causing the death knight to doubt everything he knew. The appearance of an omnipotent and unreachable entity was unsuitable for the task.

Thus it was that Archimonde had taken a size that was no more than seven feet tall. He was clad in concealing robes, rather than armor, and was sitting while looking over reports. He was wearing his spectacles. He normally never did this, because appearances were everything. Very few people knew that Archimonde was short-sighted.

Behind him, the tea kettle had just started to sing, when a demon appeared. 'Lord Archimonde, the death knight and Kirrasan have arrived.'

'Send them in.' said Archimonde as he stood. Kirrasan and Arthas came up the hill. 'Ah, Kirrasan, you've got him to return to us. Excellent work, truly excellent.' He looked to Arthas, nodding to him. 'Would you care for some tea? Its a variety that helps me sleep, which when you have done the things I have done is a novelty.'

The results were everything he could have hoped for. Arthas stared , completely unable to comprehend how to react. His jaw was hanging open. Just for effect, Archimonde took off his spectacles and set them aside on the table. He smiled and offered him a hand. 'Perhaps something a bit stronger? I have some wine, though I don't like conducting business while drinking the stuff.'

'I… I don't want anything to drink.' said Arthas. He took the hand and shook it.

'Fair enough.' said Archimonde, making his way over to the tea kettle. He poured the contents into two cups, one of which he gave to Kirrasan as he sat down. 'Please, sit down, we have much to discuss.' Arthas obeyed, completely adrift. Archimonde continued. 'I should apologize for my manner in our first meeting. It appears there was something of a culture clash when I first arrived. You see, I had taken your society to be akin to the Eredar, that is my species. Among my kind, everyone of any intellect or skill or influence pursues a career in magic. We leave the fighting to the other races, and the less intelligent members of our kind.

'I see now that magics isolation from the masses caused them to revere warriors. Much like the doomguards and pit lords. Had I known that you were the primary commander, I should have congratulated you on your success.

'As it was, I had taken Kel'thuzad to be the leader of the scourge. A mistake which I fear has cost both of dearly in the area of subordinates.'

'More than you know.' said Arthas, an edge in his tone. He was regaining his composure.

Archimonde sipped his tea, before setting it down. 'Now, first of all, I should give some context to the situation. Though the scourge have served their purpose admirably, they have no real idea of the stakes of this game. Or why everyone is doing what they are doing. The Legion likes to keep its secrets of course, we find it helps keep our enemies in the dark. On the other hand, the dragonflights prefer to keep those they profess to love in darkness. To maintain their control over them, I expect.

'They can't have you comprehending the nature of the universe around you. Or you might do the sensible thing and try and tear it all down.'

'I've been meaning to ask,' said Arthas, 'why are you destroying worlds? What do you gain from all this?'

Archimonde sipped his tea again, then set it down and smiled. The question played into his game. 'That, young death knight, is a very complicated question. And were I to tell you the whole story, we should still be sitting here when this world died of natural causes. I shall have to summarize, and you may learn the rest later.

'Do you know of the titans?'

'The creators of Azeroth, you mean.' said Arthas. 'I know of them. But nobody really knows anything about them. Only that most of them abandoned their creations and one of them decided to wipe them all out.'

'You have summarized the entire history of the deities of this universe.' mused Archimonde. He liked this death knight. 'However, the titans did not create Azeroth. The physical world was here long before they were. Life, was here long before they were. A group of entities, who you may know of as the Old Gods existed in their own way.

'The titans came into contact with them, and decided they didn't the Old Gods nature. One represented chaos the other order. No one is exactly sure how it happened. But the two forces had a massive war and the titans sealed them inside Azeroth. They then created a great many species upon Azeroth. For the express purpose of keeping the Old Gods contained.

'What do you draw from this?'

'…The titans couldn't have created the universe.' said Arthas.

'Exactly!' said Archimonde. 'The titans were but sufficiently advanced creatures. They would appear as gods to the uneducated masses of this world if they returned. Which they won't. Yet in their pride they deluded themselves that they were gods. That the purpose of existence was to create new life, and find new wonders. A sort of… ah… I said something rather good a few hundred years ago.'

'Cosmically powered vacation.' supplied Kirrasan.

'Ah, yes,' said Archimonde, 'that was it. The point of all this is that the titans were not, and never will be, gods. I am not a god either, though I certainly have power exceeding that of many who claim to be divine. The reality is that 'God' as you might call it, is that which no greater existence can be discerned.

'By its nature god must be all powerful and all seeing. So if you could get together fifty of your friends and kill him in an afternoon, then he has failed that criteria.'

'A mentor of mine believed that the holy light fulfilled those standards.' noted Arthas.

The mention of the holy light annoyed Archimonde, he wasn't sure why. 'I will admit that the holy light is something we don't fully understand. We've been working on trying to access it for many years. But every time we get someone who can wield their powers diminish and soon they can only wield darkness.

'It's rather unfortunate, with its healing magic we might well be unstoppable.'

'Why have I been brought here?' asked Arthas.

'Yes, I suppose I am being rather roundabout about this.' said Archimonde as he arose. 'I tire of this place, let us speak elsewhere.'

* * *

In retrospect it had been a deliberate tactic to take Arthas off guard. Even worse it had actually worked. He'd had to process the fact that the individual before him was the same as the godlike enity he had seen in Dalaran. All of his pre conceived notions had withered and died out of sheer confusion. Thus Archimonde had dictated the pace of the conversation.

Now he motioned with one hand, and they were all standing upon a distant cliff overlooking a churning sea. Stormclouds were gathering overhead, and lightning could be seen flashing in the distance. Archimonde looked at it, face unreadable. 'I miss the seas of my old homeworld. They have changed, and they are not as they once were. Yet sacrifices must be made for the greater good.' He looked to Arthas with an unreadable expression. 'Where was I?'

'You were about to tell me your purpose in all this.' supplied Arthas.

'Ah, yes.' said Archimonde. 'My master, Sageras, was considered the greatest of the titans. He was always thinking up new and creative things. He questioned everything and everyone. It was a quality they admired.

'Yet they believed that their way was right and that everyone else was wrong. So they assumed that his constant questioning would ensure he remained on their side.'

'I know enough history to know that didn't work out.' said Arthas.

'Yes,' said Archimonde, 'you see as long as Sageras was in the presence of the other titans he was under pressure from them. He could not see the universe for what it was. An abomination that never should have come to pass. He fought the demons. But because the universe itself conspired against him, he could never gain victory.

'Eventually, he was challenged by Nathrezim to meet him in the darkness of the universe.'

'Nathrezim?' asked Arthas. 'As in the order.'

'Nathrezim was the father of the dreadlords.' said Archimonde. 'The entire race came from him, and the order was named after him. Sageras followed Nathrezim into the absolute darkness of the universe and killed him. The blood of Nathrezim spewed forth and created the dreadlords. And there Sageras beheld the truth of creation.'

'Which is?' asked Arthas, curious despite himself.

'We fucked everything up.' said Archimonde with a sigh. 'I'm not usually so blunt, but it's the sad truth. A long time ago, the universe was created by an all powerful, all seeing entity. One whose designs could not be thwarted, defeated, or frustrated without its will. It desired subjects to rule over.

'Yet subjects without free will would be but soulless machines. Thus it had to give them the capacity to turn from what it wanted them to do and seek what they wanted to do.

'So it created the first sentients and allowed them to dwell in a paradise without war, famine or death. A place of plenty, where none need die, none need suffer. Yet there had to be a choice.

'Thus the creator of the universe gave sentients and option. It gave them something they were not supposed to do. If they obeyed this one command, paradise would continue. If they disobeyed it, paradise would end.

'Well, they didn't obey it. They didn't even try. The first sentients had hardly been alive for a day before they broke the one rule they were given. And so entered death, and all the other horrors which beset this universe without end.'

'I seem to recall you causing some of that horror yourself.' mused Arthas.

'True enough,' said Archimonde, 'I have done many great and terrible things. And I'd gladly do them again to correct the mistake of creation.'

The resolve in his tone disturbed Arthas, and he looked at the man before him in a new light. 'You're talking about-'

'Killing everything in the entire universe.' said Archimonde. 'Then destroying the fabric of reality just for good measure. Though that may take some time, this wretched world is quite resilient. It is a work in progress.'

'You're insane.' said Arthas.

'Please don't use words like 'insanity' and 'mad' to characterize peoples motivations.' said Archimonde. 'They are about as descriptive as saying someone has 'fallen to the fel corruptions.' Even madmen have an internal logic to their actions. And you will find that there is a method to my madness. Long before the Legion ever existed the universe began to go wrong. One choice spiraled out of control resulting in a universe of misery and fear.' He shook his head. 'But every so often people like the titans, like your Silver Hand, appear. They inspire people to try and improve things. But it never lasts does it? Their good intentions are corrupted by those who would use them for their own ends.

'You need to look no further than your father for that. Did he spend his entire life doing everything in his power to aid others? And what was his reward? What was his people's reward for their selflessness? They were taken advantage and abandoned to the scourge.

'All the speeches of paladins and priests cannot change the inevitable reality. This universe rewards the spoiled, the bloodthirsty, and those you deem wicked.' Arthas looked away from him. 'Let me ask you something; you were something of a warrior priest were you not?'

'Yes,' said Arthas, 'I was not the most devout, but I held the faith of the light.'

'Did the paladins ever consider the possibility that the universe might hate them?' Archimonde asked. 'That it might regard them with contempt. And seek their annihilation through their chosen servants in the destructive Orcish Horde.

'For all their great deeds and heroism, the alliance has failed. Their cities were leveled, their villages were burned. All their altruism has only resulted in one horror after another inflicted upon them. While the orcs have thus far escaped unscathed. I can see the strands of fate for this world, Prince Arthas. I know where this is going.'

Arthas could not stop his eyes from widening, for he felt the truth in those words. Archimonde knew what was going to happen. He would win, he would destroy everything. And there was nothing Arthas could do to stop him. 'What do you want of me, demon?'

'I want you to stop denying the obvious.' said Archimonde. 'It was not the paladin, but the prince who did the most damage to my operations. Each time you cast aside your subordinate, you did untold damage to my forces. The universe rewards those contribute to its own destruction.

'Yet you need not destroy your own race. Humanity has resisted three invasions by the Burning Legion, and still,l they continue to fight on. Such tenaciousness should be rewarded, and they could be of great service to the Legion in their own way. And now I need someone to replace Tichondrius and Mannaroth.

'You would be my chief lieutenant, and the harbinger of my wrath. Join me, and when I have exterminated the unworthy races from this place, I will give you this world. Your kind will have it all. As their numbers grow, their warriors will spread to other worlds. Conquering them in the Legions name.'

'Somehow I doubt my people would accept such an arrangement.' said Arthas.

'They will have little choice, and in time they will come to accept it.' said Archimonde. 'For I have seen it done before with the doomguards and pit lords. And as time passes you will be known as the greatest of their leaders, immortal and wise in rule. The knowledge of the legion would cause your sorcerers to become more powerful than ever. With fel magic and the scourge at your disposal, you would be the greatest of the legion.'

'To live forever,' said Arthas, 'with all I love dead and I to blame? You'll forgive me if it does not sound appealing.'

'In that regard,' said Kirrasan. 'I believe I may be of some help. We succubi have a talent for arranging for defections among the fairer sex. I can arrange for your beloved Jaina's return to you. And for that matter any other woman you might desire.'

'Join us, Prince Arthas.' said Archimonde. 'I will give you all the Kingdoms of this world, if only you will kneel and swear fealty to me.'

Arthas considered it. The situation was hopeless; he'd already done everything he could. And still, it hadn't made a difference. If Archimonde could see the strands of fate, then the Prophet's plan was doomed. If he accepted, then he might at least save his race. Perhaps, in time, he could grow strong enough to overcome Archimonde.

Arthas walked forward to the edge of the cliff and looked out at the gathering storm clouds. The rumbling of thunder and the crack of lightning could be heard. The skies were growing darker as the sun waned. There was nothing he could he now but accept the truth. He could not kill Archimonde, to attack him now would be a futile gesture that would save no one. Yet if he joined them, he might buy time. Be able to work against Archimonde in secret, grow strong enough to one day overcome the Legion.

No. Surrender might save the physical bodies of his people. But living under the reign of the demons would destroy their soul. In that moment he could see everything that had been virtuous and good about his race. It would be twisted into vicious and cunning monsters. Fel humans, no better than orcs whatever their rhetoric.

Then he perceived a forlorn hope. It was beyond absurd, yet if it worked, it could save untold billions of lives. He turned to Archimonde, keeping his composure and looked at him. Really looked at him. And Arthas realized that despite his pretensions, Archimonde was still mortal. He could change.

'You have offered me a chance to change sides and save my race, despite all the damage I have inflicted upon you.' said Arthas. 'Let me return the favor.

'Just stop.'

Archimonde stared at him, obviously surprised. 'What?'

'No one can know the mind of God.' said Arthas. 'And if this universe is so corrupt and beyond salvation, it's only a matter of time before it tears itself to shreds. You need not hasten the process. Isn't it possible that you are wrong? That your master was wrong?

'Just walk away.'

Archimonde stared at him, looking incredulous. 'Are you offering me the hand of redemption?'

'Why not?' asked Arthas. 'One of the things which frustrated me most was how people assumed I was beyond redemption. None of them tried to get me to stand down, none of them asked for a parley. Everyone I fought assumed that I would massacre them to the last man women and child if they surrendered. No matter how many victories I won. No matter how many offers of surrender I gave. Everyone treated me like an irredeemable monster.'

'Are you so naive?' asked Archimonde. 'I have burned many worlds before this one, and I will burn many more afterward. Why would I abandon my operations just because you ask me to?'

'Because no one could stop you.' said Arthas. 'Think about it. When I turned on the Legion, I was a pariah among humanity. I was the chief lieutenant of the Lich King, respected and loved by my new subjects. And the Lich King had promised me vengeance in time.

'I had everything to lose and nothing to gain by killing Mannaroth.

'Yet you? What could you lose by changing? Who in all the universe is your equal?'

'Few indeed.' said Archimonde, a note of pride in his voice. 'None might dispute my commands, whether they agree with them or not.'

'That is my point.' said Arthas. 'If you withdraw this invasion and choose to change the mission of the Legion, no one could stop you.'

'And I suppose the innumerable worlds I have laid to waste will forgive and forget.' said Archimonde. 'You seem to have missed your true calling as a court jester.'

'It doesn't matter what they think.' said Arthas. 'They are dead. And those that survive are in no position to reject you. To do so might lead to their annihilation.

'You have an opportunity now to do something which I could only dream of. To change your ways with no repercussions. No one will dare oppose you. No one will dare reject you. You don't even have to do anything.'

'You expect my lieutenants to change because I tell them to?' asked Archimonde, before laughing. 'For untold thousands of years, the races of the Burning Legion have been driven to fight kill and die. For the singular goal of universal destruction. And now I am to change the whole purpose of the Legion on a whim.

'No, at the beginning it might have been possible, but the Legion has taken on a life of its own.'

'Actually not really.' said Kirrasan suddenly.

Archimonde looked at her with narrow eyes. 'Explain yourself.'

'Look I realize you prize the destruction of all life as an end goal.' said Kirrasan. 'But I don't think anyone in the Legion cares all that much about it. They pay lip service to it, but it's just an excuse to have fun destroying things. Were you to change the goal to universal domination, I doubt any but the most hard core of fanatics would object.'

'You could spin the recent defeats here as divine providence.' said Arthas. 'Demonstrating the need to alter the goals of the Legion to more befit Sageras' vision.'

'Sageras' vision was the total annihilation of all life.' snapped Archimonde. 'I knew him well.'

'Lie,' said Kirrasan with a shrug, 'every ruler has to do it some point. You and Kil'jaden were his disciples, weren't you? Is Tichondrius' replacement understudy going to tell you what Sageras' vision was?'

'Kil'jaden will never accept it.' said Archimonde, looking reluctant.

'Kil'jaden won't risk a civil war.' said Kirrasan. 'My support would convince him to bide his time and try to renegotiate a return to the old ways. It might take a few centuries, but you should be able to convince him. You were the person who got him to serve Sageras in the first place. I rather like the idea of ruling all creation; it sounds more fun than committing suicide.'

There was a long, long, silence. Thunder rolled in the black skies beyond, and it began to drizzle down up them. Archimonde looked to Arthas, then Kirrasan, looking for the first time conflicted. Shifting from foot to foot, she turned round to look over the forests stretching beyond them. They were blighted and filled with war. Then he looked down at the ground.

It was a moment which stretched into eternity.

'No,' said Archimonde, his voice filled with a note of regret as he turned around, 'no, it's far too late for that.' A blade was in his hand, and he pointed it at Arthas. 'This is the last chance. After this, there is no turning back. If you will not serve the Legion, then you will be destroyed. Make your choice, paladin!'

Arthas backed away, and found himself at the very edge of the cliffs. The rain was falling harder; the winds were tearing through his cloak and hair. The sea below was churning with waves twenty feet high. Archimonde loomed before him, his power flowing out from him like a god passing judgment.

 _'Jump.'_ said a voice. _'Jump now!'_

Arthas threw himself into the sea.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

This chapter the one I have been the most conflicted about posting. Not just because it portrays Archimonde in a very different light. But also because it involves {of all things.} Archimonde being given a last-second chance. And yet this chapter is one I have been both looking forward to, and dreading for a very long time. It's kind of one of those things which will either be hailed as brilliant, or really really stupid. Or at least I think it is, maybe people won't even care. Even as of this posting, I feel as though it could have been done better.

I felt from a narrative standpoint that it was necessary for Archimonde's motives to be given. The problem is that the Legion's motivations are not so much elaborated on, as handwaved in the main story. Blizzard never puts any thought into what might motivate a person to destroy the world. Instead, the Legion is evil because it wants to destroy the world, and wants to destroy the world because it is evil.

This, to me, is not acceptable motivations.

On a separate note, this chapter was supposed to be posted days ago, but my computer wouldn't post the story. In the end, I had to email the story to another computer, then post it from there, which is really annoying.


	16. The Last Guardian

**Chapter Fourteen: The Last Guardian**

Arthas hit the water and sank like a stone. Down he plunged into the darkness, his armor filling with water and his sword gripped tightly in hand. As the water began to seep into his lungs, a shadow passed over him and gripped him in two massive claws. There was a surge as they shot through the water, and he could see two massive wings beating against the sea. Then suddenly they came out into the pouring rain. Lightning flashed around them as he choked up sea water, and looked up to see a blue dragon gripping him.

He strained against its claws as the creature circled round to head for shore.

'Stop struggling you fool! Or I might drop you!' snapped a female voice. It was familiar somehow.

'Who are you?!' asked Arthas.

'No time for that now!' said the dragon.

As she soared over the woods, fell bolts of energy surged out of the woods. She ducked and weaved beyond the shots as it crossed over the Legions territory. Arthas wasn't sure how long he lay clutched in her claws, but he did not like being pulled around like a pack. He was beaten and battered further as she navigated the woods, until finally, no one was shooting at her. At last, the dragon descended and landed within a shrine of standing stones near a river. She dropped him unceremoniously.

Arthas stood up, wincing in pain from his injuries. Now he remembered her. 'What is your motive here?'

The dragon landed, looking somewhat affronted. 'Is that how you thank me for saving your life?'

'I could say the same thing to you.' noted Arthas. 'Remember Dalaran?'

'Fine.' she said. 'Consider the favor returned.'

'You made no secret of your ingratitude before, Kalecgos-' said Arthas.

'I'm Tyrygosa!' she snapped. 'Tyrygosa! Can't you tell I'm female.'

'I'm no expert on dragon anatomy.' said Arthas. 'Now forgive me. But I doubt you flew from Lordaeron and hung out beneath a clifftop just in case I happened to jump off. Why are you here?'

Tyrygosa made a sound which might have been a sigh. 'I was sent by my master, Malygos. He read the strands of fate and decided he wanted you alive. My job was to bail you out if you got too far in over your head. I can't believe you were stupid enough to try and parley with Archimonde.'

'It had to be done.' said Arthas. 'Tell me, is there any chance that the dragon flights might intervene in this war?'

Tyrygosa paused. 'My flight is occupied in Northrend. We're not going to be able to send anyone to help. As for the Reds and Greens, I doubt it. They never get involved in anything approaching what might be considered their job.'

'Typical,' muttered Arthas, 'thank you for saving me. However, at this rate, I may only be alive for the next few days in any case.'

'Believe me,' said Tyrygosa, 'we dragons have been waiting for this day for ages, and even we find it surreal. What happens at Mount Hyjal in a few days from now will save or doom everyone in the entire world.'

'Mount Hyjal?' asked Arthas. 'Which way is that?'

Tyrygosa pointed with one claw to the mountain looming overhead of the entire forest. It was topped with a massive tree larger than anything Arthas had ever seen before. 'You can't miss it.'

'Well I'm going to head in that direction now.' said Arthas. 'And see if I can help.'

Tyrygosa's seemed to consider the matter for a time. 'I might as well go there too.' she said. 'If I set out for Northrend now by the time I get there the whole world might have ended. There is nothing more important than what's about to happen up there, and I've got to do something.'

'Well I'm sure whatever defenders are there might appreciate your presence.' mused Arthas. 'Let's go; the Legion will likely send pursuers after us. Invincible!'

Out of the woods road his trusty steed, and he petted the creature, who nuzzled his hand before he mounted it. Turning it towards Mount Hyjal he set out, and the dragon took off to follow behind him.

* * *

Two days after the fall of Tichondrius Illidan could hear a raven flying. He sat crosslegged by the edge of a stream running a hand through it as they waited. Waited for his brother's foolishness to abate. Tyrande Whisperwind, Illidan and Malfurion Stormrage were waiting for something. Though what was beyond Illidan.

'We have no time for this Furion,' said Tyrande, 'what are we doing out here?'

'We should be hunting the demons, not wasting time here.' snapped Illidan.

'Last night, in a dream, a great raven spoke to me and summoned me to this place.' replied Malfurion.

Then out of the darkness, Illidan heard the sound of a large wolf's paws beating the ground. It was bearing a heavy weight, and he could feel someone very powerful atop it. Alongside them was one of a different race, powerful in a different way. They wore a cloak if the sound of rustling was any indication and they held a staff that touched the ground. They were slight of frame, female. They halted before them. 'We were summoned here as well.' said an orcish voice.

'Who are you, outlanders?' asked Malfurion.

'I am Thrall, Son of Durotan,' said the orc, 'Warchief of the Horde.'

'And I am Jaina Proudmoore,' said the female. 'leader of the Alliance Expedition from Lordaeron.'

'You are not welcome here.' said Tyrande.

At that moment a raven landed and transformed into a human. 'Peace Priestess, they've come to aid you against the Legion.'

'It was you in my dream.' said Malfurion. 'Who are you to make such an offer to us?'

'I…' began the human, 'am the reason for the Legions return. Years ago I brought the orcs into this world, and by doing so, I opened a path for the demons as well. For my sins, I was murdered by those whom I cared for most. Despite my death, war raged across the lands of the east for many long years. It left entire kingdoms devastated in its wake.

'Now, at last, I have returned to set things right. I… am Medivh, the Last Guardian. I tell you now the only chance for this world is to unite in arms against the enemies of all who live!'

There was dead silence.

'Well that's all easy enough to say isn't it?' asked Jaina. 'But it doesn't really touch any of the core issues. Tyrande Whisperwind, we wish to negotiate the immediate cessation of hostilities. Due to light of the demonic invasion that threatens us all.'

'We are… willing to discuss it.' said Tyrande.

That was really the start of things.

* * *

Loreena had spent the past… who knew how long, in a cell made of wood. Living wood at that, which groaned and shifted while she was lying against the wall. She and her soldiers had drunk only water, and eaten nothing at all. The water alone proved sufficient to keep them in full health.

If anything Loreena felt better than she ever had. That made it all the more frustrating that she was inside a cell. She couldn't make marks on the walls, despite her best efforts, because her marks grew back. So she paced back and forth, losing track of the days little by little.

Then the door, made of heavy vines, pulled back and the night elves appeared. 'Out, you are being released.'

Loreena stepped forward out into the halls and was pushed along. Her various other fellow prisoners were being extracted from their cells. Faces Loreena had not seen in who knew how long reappeared.

'Captain,' said a soldier, 'didn't think I'd see any of you again.'

'Neither did I.' admitted Loreena.

'No talking!' snapped a sentinel.

They were led out of living trees and into a clearing where a large group of Alliance Soldiers waited for them. The Lady Jaina was also waiting, staff in hand and a small smile on her face. Loreena had only met her once, so she doubted she'd remember her.

'Ah, Loreena,' said Jaina, 'I hope the night elves didn't treat you too harshly?'

Loreena stopped. She remembered her name? 'It wasn't exactly fun, but yes.' she said. 'I uh… what is going on?'

'I've negotiated an alliance between alliance, horde, and night elf.' said Jaina. 'We make our stand on Mount Hyjal in a few days. Are you and your men ready for service?'

'Yes milady, of course.' said Loreena.

'I'd glad,' said Jaina, 'I'm going to need all the soldiers I can get for what comes next.' She glanced to the paladin. 'Jorn, I want you to see to it that they are outfitted, and evaluated as to whether they are fit for active duty.'

'Yes milady.' said Jorn.

'Once you've done that,' said Jaina, 'I want you to take command of our forces not at Mount Hyjal. Coordinate with the Warchief's generals.'

Things were looking up.

* * *

Warchief Thrall looked over the table. He saw the expression of shock and disappointment on Grom's face. It was to be expected. The order was unlikely to be popular, but it had to be done.

'You can't be serious Thrall?' said Grom.

'I've never been more so, Grom.' said Thrall. 'I want you to take command of the Horde outside of Mount Hyjal. You are the only one I can entrust with so important a duty.'

'But I should be there during the final battle.' said Grom.

'You will be.' said Thrall. 'As soon as the Legion begins assaulting Mount Hyjal, I want you to strike at their outlying bases. Do as much damage as you can. It will aid our defense greatly to distract them.'

'This doesn't sit right with me, Warchief.' said Grom. 'You'll be facing Archimonde all alone. What if something should happen?'

'If the worst should occur, and Archimonde wins,' said Thrall 'I want you to rally the Horde. Fight to the last man women and child. Our people must be destroyed before they ever fall victim to the corruption of the Legion again. You know what it is to be their slave; you know that we must save our race. At any cost.'

'At any cost.' echoed Hellscream. 'Alright Thrall, I'll do as you ask. We won't be slaves again, I promise you.'

'Good,' said Thrall, 'good I knew I could count on you.' He paused. 'Grom, our people generations will look back on this day and judge us by what we did here. We must not disappoint them.'

'Yes Thrall,' said Grom, 'I know.'

* * *

There was no enthusiasm for battle amongst the Legion. Archimonde could see it. They were scared. They eyed the scourge forces that were all around them. Most of the warriors who had been gathered here had not yet seen their first battle. The veterans, those who had burned many worlds were all dead. Their commanders were slain.

The Demon Lord had lost Mannaroth, he had lost Tichondrius, and he had lost the creme of his army. And in return, he had gained nothing. The human had refused his offer, casting himself into the sea rather than joining him. Then he had been pulled from it by a blue dragon. In the storm which followed Archimonde had been unable to focus well enough to kill her.

The end of Azeroth was nigh. Yet the cost had been higher than any war which Archimonde had yet fought. And the cost was still rising. He looked to Kirrasan, who regarded him with a somewhat cautious gaze. She was going to say something whether he wanted her to or not, so he might as well get it over with.

'Speak, succubus.' he said.

'They're not ready.' said Kirrasan. 'Our soldiers might have been able to take Mount Hyjal with just the night elves defending it. But now the Alliance and Horde have joined them. Our forces are inexperienced, afraid, and doubtful. Ever since Arthas made a fool of us again, there are rumors that even Lord Archimonde is unable to bring him down.'

'They will obey my orders.' said Archimonde.

'Ordinarily, I'd say that we should draw all our remaining forces and throw everything at that hill.' continued Kirrasan in a conversational tone. 'However, there is a large column of humans inbound to our present location. They are coming from the eaves of Ashenvale. If we get rid of our rear guard, then we'll end up getting flanked and wiped out.

'We can't bring our full force against that hilltop. Our commanders consist of Azgalor, Anetheron, and some Lich named Rage Winterchill. Their decent commanders. But nothing special, and our enemies are growing in force while we are weakening.

'Every day that this war goes on casualties mount. Every day that this fiasco continues, we grow weaker. And all the time our enemies become more organized. It's only a matter of time before the other Kingdoms of the Alliance get their act together. They'll start making war on Balnazzar in full force.

'When that happens our supply of reinforcements from the eastern kingdoms will dry up. On top of the already dwindling supply of forces from Outland and the Nether. Nobody expected things to go this badly, and we are running out of soldiers. In a few months, I'm sure Kil'jaden will be able to draw additional manpower from other fronts. But by the time a few months have passed our enemies may have wiped us off the map.'

'That will not happen.' said Archimonde. 'I will-'

'Don't you get it you idiot!' roared Kirrasan in sudden fury. _ **'WE HAVE LOST!'**_

Utter silence fell over the Legion as everyone stared at Kirrasan. Archimonde stood up and rose to his full power. 'That may be the first time in millennia that anyone has dared insult me.'

'It won't be the last at this rate.' snapped Kirrasan. 'Your entire command staff is dead. Your position is weak, and you plan to attack a defensible position while flanked by your enemies. The undead that make up the bulk of your forces hate your guts. They are only being held in line by the threat of stupid brute force. Your best soldiers are all slain by an enemy you created, and the natives are united against us!

'We have been outmaneuvered, outwitted, and outmanned. For the love of the end of all things stop preening over your supposed ultimate power and look at your men! They're on the verge of breaking! The only thing, the only reason that this situation is not hopeless is that we have been led to believe that you are so powerful, so utterly beyond us, that nothing in this world could match you!

'Well, prove it damn you! _**DO SOMETHING!'**_

Archimonde snapped. He reached out and gripped her by the throat. 'Insolent wretch! I could obliterate you with a thought, and you dare question me!'

'Go right ahead.' said Kirrasan. 'Lose the war right here, right now.'

Archimonde held her there, and he realized that to kill her would be the end of the Legion. If the succubus rebelled, everything he'd worked for would be destroyed. For a moment he wondered if it would not be better that way, that perhaps he might do this and withdraw.

No. The task appointed to him by Sageras was too important to abandon. He'd sworn to destroy creation. It must be done. He let go and looked around at his soldiers. 'Very well,' he said, 'I will do as you ask.'

He cast a spell with one hand, opening a scrying portal which all the Legion could see then teleported away.

* * *

Kazzak watched the massed forces of the quillboars, centaurs and tauren approach. A force of humans and orcs marched alongside them. They were numerous beyond measure, while the Legion stood weakened. Many of the forces of the barrens had been withdrawn to fight in Ashenvale. Many of those that had were ambushed and cut down by the night elves.

His men were afraid. 'Hold your ground warriors! We are Legion! We will carve them down like a scythe through wheat!'

He barely believed it himself. And his men believed it even less. This was it. This was everything he had been able to muster. They looked on the verge of breaking and fleeing as the enemy drew nearer. He knew why. The greatest of their kind had been cut down. Tichondrius, Mal'ganis, Mannaroth, the list went on and on.

Then there was a flash of thunder and Lord Archimonde was there, standing like a mountain. He raised one hand as the skies darkened. He sent forth a barrage of fel magic in such a swath that it carved through the armies. Their enemies grew afraid. Some threw themselves on their faces is dismay and waited for the end. Others fled, throwing down their weapons in the process.

Few indeed escaped. Archimonde allowed these to flee and appeared before Kazzak. 'Strengthen these defenses.' he said. 'And prepare to hold this ground against any who might come against us. I am needed elsewhere.' He paused. 'Those who escaped I let live. That they might spread the word of my power, and this world may know that I am Archimonde, destroyer of worlds.'

'As you command my Lord.' said Kazzak, as every knee bowed before him.

* * *

Upon the plains of Lordaeron, the undead and demon were fighting a losing battle. A great army of adventurers were invading western Lordaeron. They had landed in Tauren Mill and Southshore and even now advanced on the Capital with dreams of glory. And despite their ragtag nature, they had broken the outlying defenses. They were advancing towards the capital, killing everything they found along the way.

The Dreadlords had been hard pressed to halt them. They had defeated an army led by a lesser Nathrezim and killed its leader. Now they were advancing upon the only fortification between them and Lordaeron city. Varimathras watched as the enemy advanced upon his defenses. It would be some time before the undead reinforcements could arrive and he had to stop them here. This war had dragged on, and many of the demons who had formed the elite core of the army had been called away. Even

Then the sun was blocked out, and Archimonde was there. He raised a hand, and there was a terrible scream from the army. Blue fire arose in the field the adventurers were crossing. The screams grew louder and louder, before halting.

Every one of the enemy lay dead, save a scant few who had been left untouched by design rather than an accident. They fled quickly.

Archimonde turned to Varimathras and the other demons. **'I have fought this battle for you that you may see my power, and know why I am Lord of the Legion. Go now, and bring swift destruction to all that live in this world.'**

'As you command, Lord Archimonde.' said Varimethras.

Then he was gone.

* * *

Daelin Proudmoore ducked beneath the blade of a doomguard. and stabbed upwards into the creature's heart. It screamed and fell backward dead. Around him, his soldiers were finishing off the last of the demons and undead in this part of the forest.

'Good work,' said Daelin, 'but keep your eyes open. There is no telling what other enemies may away us in the-'

And then a demon of unfathomable power stood atop the cliff. He gazed down at the forces of Kul'tiras in contempt and raised a hand. Meteors surged down from the sky by the dozens. Daelin and his men were under attack by countless infernals. They had faced a few of these creatures in small numbers, but now they were being attacked by far more. Even as his men struggled to slay the creatures, more demons and undead streamed out of the trees.

'Retreat!' called Daelin. 'Retreat to the eaves of the forest! We'll make our stand there!'

The men of Kul'tiras were disciplined, and they quickly disengaged and withdrew. Yet the enemy were fast behind them. As they fled, Daelin began to think that they might well be overwhelmed no matter what stand they made. Already he could see that many of his men had been killed in the opening onslaught, and more were wounded.

The Kul'tiran offensive had been stopped in its tracks. Now the only question was whether it could survive the Legion's counterattack.

* * *

The Legion had witnessed the events which had occurred in a matter of hours. As Archimonde returned, they fell to their knees in worship. He looked mildly annoyed. Kirrasan was shaking. 'Unless anyone else has further commentary, we're going to attack Mount Hyjal. And should any of the enemy attempt to flank us, I will simply obliterate them.

'Anetheron, gather what satyrs you can. We'll need them as shock troops. Winterchill, prepare the scourge! We march!'

Cheers broke out throughout the Legion. For now, they knew that so long as they served Lord Archimonde, their victory was assured.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

So yeah, Archimonde kind of completely steal Medivh's thunder, didn't he? Maybe I should rename this chapter 'Archimond is Badass.' Didn't mean to write it that way. But Kirrasan kept baiting Archimonde until he finally actually did something. Her outburst here surprised even me. But in retrospect, she viewed the endless casualties as a very serious problem. Rather than a momentary inconvenience. Whatever the case Archimonde just won three major battles for the Legion by himself. Also, to be honest, I always found the whole Medivh reveal somewhat underwhelming, I don't know why.

Probably because you have to have played all three games to understand its full weight, or read supplementary materials.

Even so, I feel this was kind of necessary. The Legion has been put through a meat grinder, and their morale is suffering as a result. Archimonde more or less had to take action to restore their faith in his power. Or that's the way I see it.

Oh and I don't like cutting Grom out of this story. I had in mind a cool exchange of dialogue between him and Jaina, and now I can't do it. But it doesn't make sense that Thrall would put his entire leadership into Mount Hyjal. Someone would have to make sure the orcs didn't join the legion if Thrall was beaten. Now admittedly Grom may not be the ideal choice for that job. But at least he has personal experience in what can happen if the orcs succumb to darkness.

 **Edit:**

This chapter went down briefly today, before being reposted. I suddenly got the feeling that something was wrong with it and removed it while I looked it over. I couldn't find much, so here it is.


	17. Stand of the Kul'tirans

**Chapter Fifteen: Stand of the Kul'tirans**

Just a few miles beyond the eaves of Ashenvale, Daelin Proudmoore halted his forces. He pulled them into a defensive position overlooking the forest. Turning to one of his mages he conveyed his orders. 'Go to the assault on the barrens. Tell them that we have been driven back and are in need of reinforcements at once. Go quickly, time is not on our side.'

'As you wish, Admiral.' he said, before teleporting away.

Proudmoore turned to his men, they were tired from the flight. Many were wounded, all had lost friends. They looked to him for command, and he knew he must give them one. 'Take defensive positions, riflemen sight down on the forest. Mages will provide magical support, those priests that remain, do what you can. When the demons come out, we'll give them such a fight that they will crawl back to hell where they belong!'

The men obeyed, some even cheering at his words. Grimly they prepared themselves over the next furious few minutes. Then came the demons, rushing out of the forests with undead at the front of their ranks. The riflemen opened fire in a great volley. The wizards sent waves of water to consume their front ranks.

The first few ranks of the undead were destroyed, but still more came up behind them. The demons stayed behind, allowing the Alliance to fire their shots. On and on it went, until finally, the riflemen slowed in their volleys.

'Stand your ground! Reinforcements are on route as we speak!' cried Daelin to his men.

The Admiral stood behind the line. His cutlass was in his hand waving as the undead and demons charged again. Closer and closer the enemy came and he took a deep breath. 'For Kul'tiras! For the Alliance!'

'For Kul'tiras!' cried his men. 'For the Alliance!'

Then battle was joined. Daelin hacked down three ghouls as they came. The bulk of the enemy forces were stopped head on by the shield wall. The footmen stabbed at the enemy beneath their shields. Abominations flailed in vain against their defenses, only to be hacked down. Riflemen shot over their comrades' shoulders over the line, slaying many. Water elementals arose to destroy the assaulting undead, and yet still they came on.

Little by little the line began to buckle beneath the force of the attack.

Daelin fought stabbed and hacked desperately. 'Fight on men! Fight on, and we will have victory!'

Suddenly there was a horn call. Up the other side of the hill came fresh soldiers, and riflemen. They carried ammunition and other things. The line was reinforced, and the enemy was repulsed, as riflemen came to fire into the enemy line. At last, the enemy retreated down the hill, only to rally again, and be repulsed a second time! One more time they rallied and were repulsed!

Finally, the enemy retreated and limped back towards the forest. Yet even as they did so, many more demons arrived alongside undead and they halted, turning back. The enemy began to reform on corpse-strewn lands between them. Proudmoore used this time to confer with his officers.

'I am glad you arrived when you did.' said Daelin. 'We were badly in need of your support.' He looked to the numbers which had come to reinforce them, a fraction of what was their full force. 'Tell me, Lieutenant, how soon can you bring up the rest of your forces?'

Lieutenant Thornby fell silent. 'Admiral Proudmoore, this is our full force.'

'What?' said Daelin. 'What happened? Explain?'

'We were advancing on the Legion's last holdings in the barrens.' said Thornby. 'Our allies were with us. Then a blue demon appeared before us and the sky grew dark. He… he killed most of us. We only escaped because he let us escape. We were forced to withdraw to defensive positions. As soon as we heard you needed help, we can as soon as we could.'

'A blue demon,' said Daelin. 'I believe I saw this creature in Ashenvale. He halted our offensive. No matter, we must hold this line.'

'Sir,' said Thornby, 'the undead and demons are mustering down there. We can't hold this position.'

'We must!' said Daelin. 'Otherwise they will be able to run rampant across this land. Send messages to our allies, ask them to send help.'

'They're as devastated as we are sir.' said Thornby. 'But we'll ask them.'

Daelin turned to his soldiers. 'Soldiers of Kul'tiras, the eyes of the world are upon us! On this day we will make our stand! On this day we will route the demons no matter the cost! And when tales are told of this day, they will tell the tale of our valor!

'Hold the line! Let none pass!'

His men roared in turn, raising their swords.

'To your positions!' said Daelin.

Once again the enemy began to scale the hills. And once again the forces of Kul'tiras stood ready to repulse them.

Nazgrel returned to the camp as Grom was consolidating his forces. As soon as he saw him, Grom went to meet the warrior. 'What news, Nazgrel?'

'The demons that aren't heading for Mount Hyjal are attacking the Kul'tiran forces.' said Nazgrel. 'Daelin Proudmoore is fighting them off though, and they are calling in many of their reserves.'

'Good,' said a warrior, 'chieftain, while the humans keep the demons off our backs we can attack.'

'Nazgrel,' said Grom, 'do you believe Proudmoore can hold?'

'I doubt it.' said Nazgrel. 'He'll spill much of their blood before he's through, but he is outnumbered, and his men are tired.'

Grom remained silent for a long time. 'We will go to the human's aid. The humans are our allies, and we will stand or fall together against this foe. Contact Jorn the Redeemer, tell him what has happened and ask that he support us.'

'We are helping the humans?' asked a warrior.

'We will do as the Warchief would do.' said Grom. 'Prepare for battle my warriors; we will drive the demons before us!' He raised Gorehowl high. 'For the Horde!'

Weapons were raised in turn. 'For the Horde!'

Grom noted that it was less enthusiastic than it could have been. Even so, as one the orcs rushed away to aid their allies.

* * *

Kazzak crushed the skull of a dead centaur beneath his boot as he watched his warriors lay waste to the village. Many of the warriors of this village had been slain in their failed offensive. Now the doomguards and other demons were taking their vengeance. The screams of centaur children were music to his ears as his warriors tormented them.

This world had cost them many lives. And in return Kazzak meant to make its end a very painful one. Flames rose high into the sky above as the buildings were put to the torch. Then the demons gathered together.

'Come Kazzak,' said one, 'let us find another village to destroy.'

Kazzak was tempted. 'No.' said Kazzak. 'The more we press on the more likely the enemy will regroup, and they still outnumber us. We will return to our base and secure our position. Those were the orders given to us, and they shall be followed.'

Thus the demons returned to establish their defenses. They left only ashes and flames in their wake.

* * *

The forces of Kul'tiras stood defiant. They were surrounded by the corpses of thousands of enemies. The hillside was stained red with fresh blood. Yet beyond the piles of corpses, they could see the demons massing for another assault. For hours they had held them off, time and again.

Daelin Proudmoore had been wounded during the battle, and his arm was in a sling. The priests were out of mana. He was resting upon his cutlass, watching the enemy with grim determination.

'Admiral, we're all out of ammunition.' said a soldier.

'Our mana pools are exhausted Admiral.' said a mage.

'Sir,' said Lieutenant Thornby, 'the natives say that Lord Kazzak is threatening their villages. They can't come to aid us.' He faltered. 'We're on our own sir.'

'I see.' said Daelin. 'Tell all riflemen to fix bayonets. We'll line up and prepare to advance down the hill.'

'You wish to charge?' asked Thornby.

'Yes,' said Daelin, 'line the riflemen up on the left flank. We're going to sweep them down the hill as they come up. We'll have the advantage of the high ground.' He paused. 'We'll make an end worthy of remembrance.' He paused. 'Move.'

Daelin breathed in. **'BAYONETS!'** he roared.

'All riflemen line of on the left flank!' cried Thornby. 'Come on lads, hop to it!'

Even as the riflemen filed along to take their place, the enemy began their advance up the hillside. They snarled and cried battle-cries as they trampled corpses. In a mad dash up the rocky slope, they came.

Daelin steadied himself and took his place by his soldiers. 'All men stand ready…' he said firmly.

The enemy began to scale up the hill, their numbers stretching back behind them like a vast tide. A tide lapping up the shore. Daelin raised his cutlass. 'CHARGE!'

The forces of Kul'tiras charged down the hill to meet the enemy as they scaled up and hit them like a sledgehammer. They broke the enemy line, hacking and slashing their way through the army. Nothing could stop them as they advanced with reckless courage! Yet all too soon they came up against the demons. And they could not pierce their ranks. As their momentum slowed the enemy closed in around them from all sides.

Gradually Daelin and his warriors were forced into a ring, fighting off undead and demons on all side. He could see the whole thing; they would fight bravely. They would fight to the end. And they would die bravely, and the demons would run rampant throughout the world.

Daelin parried a blow from a doomguard and hacked his leg out from under him. He fell to one knee and driving his sword into the creature's heart. Then he arose and made ready for one final stand.

 **'FOR THE HORDE!'**

It was a scene which had become the dread of Alliance soldiers throughout history. A vast force of orcs rushing towards you, axes and swords held high as they screamed in bloodlust. Yet rather than join the demons, the orcs broke into them from behind. They carved a vicious swath through demon and undead alike.

Around him, Daelin watched in sheer awe as his forces were rescued by the orcs. They fought with the same brutish savagery which he had hated them for all his life to protect humans. He simply couldn't conceive of it, and yet it was happening. His forces stood at the ready as the last of the demons and undead were slain or driven away.

Then he saw Grom Hellscream. Their eyes met, and they approached one another.

There was utter silence as they faced each other. The last time they had met it had been in battle. 'What is the meaning of this?' asked Proudmoore.

'Your daughter is our ally.' said Grom. 'And so we have come to your aid.'

'Where is she?' asked Daelin.

'At Mount Hyjal.' said Grom. 'Along with my Warchief and the leaders of the night elves.'

'Night elves?' asked Daelin. 'I heard tales of such creatures from the natives.'

'They are terrible in battle.' said Grom. 'Never taking prisoners.' There was silence as both of them reflected they wanted each other dead. '…I'm going to take my forces and go as fast as I can north, while you will go as fast as you can south.'

'Let me see if I understand your plan.' said Daelin. 'You want to head as fast as you can that way, while I take my forces as fast I can that way. Unacceptable, I have come here for my daughter. You go northeast; I will go northwest.'

'Fair enough,' said Grom, 'you fight well.'

'I really don't care about your opinion, orc.' said Daelin.

'Nor I about yours, human.' mused Grom.

The two forces did not part ways amicably. Amicable implies mutual respect. Both commanders would much rather be fighting each other than demons. But there was a joint understanding that now was not the best time for old hatreds.

* * *

Varimathras was more than a little frustrated by the results of his campaign thus far. Almost as soon as Lord Archimonde had departed, he'd been forced into a lengthy series of clashes. His enemy proved a skilled opponent. Their battle had consisted of one stalemate after another. The Dreadlords would move their forces in an attempt to seize an advantage. And the knight would meet them. Neither side could get around the others flanks.

Worse still it had mostly been waged on Legion soil. It kept the war out of the occupied human lands, and so preventing them from being devastated further.

Had Lord Archimonde not arrived, this knight might well have overwhelmed them. Without Lord Archimonde, he might have lain siege to the capital.

As it was the humans were building fortifications along the border. Varimathras was building fortifications of his own. The paladins would appear and prevent any smaller raiding parties. Their valor alone inevitably proved more than sufficient to hold off the scourge. Then the knight would come around.

'This stalemate is to our benefit.' said Detheroc as he observed the situation. 'It will advance Garithos' career amidst the alliance.'

'How is it to our benefit that the humans might have a leader to united behind?' asked Varimethras. 'The more they coordinate, the more vulnerable our position becomes.'

'You needn't fear Varimathras.' Detheroc assured him. 'Everything is proceeding according to my plan.'

'I wish I had your confidence.' said Varimathras. 'We have taken considerable casualties in this campaign. Far more than was projected.'

'Such things happen, occasionally.' mused Detheroc. 'So long as we keep control of the situation, Archimonde will be satisfied, and we will be rewarded.'

'Of course.' said Varimathras. 'Yet why should Archimonde have taken a direct hand as he did? Surely the situation could not have deteriorated so much?'

'If it has,' said Detheroc, 'it has not occurred on our front. Thus we may expect to be rewarded all the better in the disgrace of our superiors. For now, we need only continue our operation, and we will gain much from this invasion.'

There was silence between the two Nathrezim for a moment. Finally, Varimathras stood up. 'I'm going to see if I can inspire the ogres and bandits to have another battle amongst themselves. It should be entertaining.'

'Then I will oversee things here.' said Detheroc.

Thus they parted ways and went about their own affairs.

* * *

Jorn the Redeemer brought round his hammer to smash down yet another ghoul. Around him, his soldiers fought on. This undead task force was being sent to Mount Hyjal. Jorn was determined to ensure it never reached that area alive. The scouts had reported its approach, and he had gone to meet it.

Raising his hammer, he healed the wounds of a nearby comrade. Then he smashed the skull of an abomination. Beside him, the footmen drove in the lines of ghouls and began hacking at the crypt fiends. Several fell in the charge, but then the enemy brought, fleeing away.

'Stay your blades men!' called Jorn. 'We can't afford to get drawn into battle with their main force! That's enough for today! Pull out!'

As they made their way back to camp, a scout returned. 'Sir, I was scouting ahead. A large force of necromancers and cultists under heavy guard slipped by while you were out.'

Jorn paused. 'A distraction, it was a distraction! What devilry are they up to now?'

'I don't know sir.' said the scout. 'But by now they've probably reached the Legion's main port. It's too late to stop them.'

* * *

When Arthas arrived at Mount Hyjal he found the place in a flurry of activity. Orcs and humans went too and fro, setting up defenses and preparing for the coming battle. Night elves stood guard, watching the trees. Giants of living wood watched over the surroundings from perches throughout the cliffs.

As he entered, Tyrygosa flew ahead to the command tent and landed. Arthas, for his part, rode gradually up the mountain. He noted the wary glances of the orcs and a number of looks of hatred and fear from his own kind. Finally, he was challenged. Alliance soldiers stepped forward, blades in their hands. At their head was a brown-haired woman.

'Hold where you are traitor.' said a soldier, raising his sword. 'Or die where you stand.'

'I am here to fight the Legion.' said Arthas. 'And you are in no position to turn away allies.'

'Why should we believe anything you have to say?!' snapped the officer. 'It's your fault any of this happened in the first place.'

'You give me too much credit.' said Arthas. 'The fault of this invasion belongs to everyone. From the oppressive Lord of the Alliance who alienated their people. To the orcs who willingly became the demons pawn.

'Moreover, If I were interested in fighting you, I would be coming up here with an army of demons and undead at my back. Don't think I didn't have the option.' He dismounted. 'Take me to the leaders of this army.'

There was dead silence. '…You will disarm first.'

Faintly amused, Arthas drew his sword and offered it to her. 'By all means, take the magical soul drinking runeblade that corrupts anyone who wields it. See how it works out for you.'

The women stepped backward, shying away from the sword.

'You again,' said Illidan's voice, 'I wondered when you would finally arrive.'

The soldiers parted as the demon hunter came forward. Arthas smiled. 'Illidan, how much do they know about what happened?'

'I explained what happened in depth.' said Illidan. 'This army is more than aware of the situation. Colonel Loreena, you will immediately cease harassing an ally of the night elves. Find something useful to do.'

After a moment the soldiers departed muttering to themselves. Illidan led Arthas up the mountain. 'The defense is ongoing.' said Illidan. 'My fool brother is convinced that the only way to kill Archimonde is through prophecy. No one has even considered seeking an alternative.'

'I've seen what Archimonde is capable of.' said Arthas. 'There is some merit in your brothers' judgment.'

'Perhaps,' said Illidan, 'yet in my experience the hand of fate is something one should not rely on to win one's battles.' He paused. 'That blade you carry is of excellent make. I saw it once, long ago.'

'You did?' asked Arthas 'When I mean…'

'I made it myself.' said Illidan. 'Though it has changed greatly, and I did not recognize it.'

Arthas looked at him in shock. 'You made it? Why?'

'I was of the night elves.' said Illidan. 'But I was fascinated by those you now called the high elves, whom we referred to as highborn. I learned much of their magic and adapted it to my own methods. Frostmourne was a masterpiece I created to impress our Queen, Azshara. I hoped to demonstrate myself a magic user on the level with any of the highborn.

'My goal was to allow the night elves to be able to become mages as well. An effort which proved fruitless once Cenarius took the helm.'

'Then how did it get into the hands of the demons?' asked Arthas.

'I expect it was seized during the War of the Ancients.' said Illidan, looking at the blade. 'Of course, it is not now anything like it once was. Like many things it was corrupted by the demons to serve their own purposes.' They came to the command tent. 'Let us speak no more of this.'

He pulled aside the flap, and they entered. Within the tent was Warchief Thrall, who was speaking with Malfurion Stormrage. Tyrande Whisperwind was also there. 'Brother, I bring a powerful ally.' said Illidan. 'Here is the one who slew Tichondrius.'

The Archdruid eyed Arthas with suspicion. 'I sense the taint of darkness about you, human.' said Malfurion. 'You ask a great deal to expect us to trust you. Why do you fight the Legion?'

'The Burning Legion took everything from me.' said Arthas. 'My home, my family, my soul. I intend to pay them back before I'm through.'

'Your service to the Horde has already been invaluable.' said Thrall. 'I would be honored if you joined us in battle.'

'Tell me,' said Arthas, 'shouldn't Jaina be here?'

'The Lady Proudmoore is organizing the evacuation of villages in the Legion's path.' said Tyrande. 'She is not present as of yet.'

'I see.' said Arthas. 'We seem to keep missing each other. I'll take my leave and let you plan your war. I mean to be on the front lines when things go down.'

'Then we have common intentions.' said Thrall.

The stage had been set irrevocably for the showdown with the Legion. Everything that had happened, everything that would happen. It all centered on this single coming battle. Whole nations would live or die. Whole worlds, perhaps every world based on what happened here in the next few days.

Azeroth stood ready.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Okay, the final battle begins next chapter, I promise you. I just felt I needed to get the side showdown between Daelin and the Legion out of the way. That way we don't have to focus on it during the climax.

As for the whole thing with Illidan making Frostmourne, that was a last minute change. I was going to reveal that Archimonde made Frostmourne. and it was his contribution to the creation of the Lich King. Unfortunately, I completely forgot to include that revelation in Final Temptation. Since I'm unlikely to get another chance at that, I was stuck.

So there I was with an obligation to expand on Frostmourne's backstory. And my primary plan was worthless. So I improvised and used another idea I had a while back that Illidan made Frostmourne many years ago. And it kind of works with the idea that it was dipped in the Well of Eternity introduced in Wrath of the Light.

Plus it gave me an opportunity to give Illidan some character development.


	18. Twilight of the Gods Part 1

**Chapter Sixteen: Twilight of the Gods Part 1**

The next morning near the Hyjal Summit, the humans, orcs and night elves gathered. At the very heights, the night elves had fortified their settlement. Beneath their gaze, the orcs and humans readied defenses of their own. Ancient protectors observed all the goings on from the base to the very peak. Other creatures had also come to join the defense. Several tribes of Furbolgs and Dark Trolls being most prominent. Hypogriff riders soared over the sky, scanning for any sign of the Legion. Tyrygosa roosted near the top.

Jaina was running late again. The memory of his conversation with Falric came to Arthas' mind, and he smiled despite himself.

'What is it?' asked Illidan, detecting the change in his manner.

'Nothing,' said Arthas, smile fading, 'nothing at all.'

Suddenly there was a phasing of blue magic, and Jaina appeared. She looked as beautiful as ever despite the terror which was in her eyes. She approached Malfurion, Thrall, and Tyrande. 'I'm sorry I'm late.' she said. 'It's just as we feared. Archimonde and his doom guard are making their way toward the summit! He'll be here any moment.' Then she saw Arthas and opened her mouth to speak.

'Ten thousand years ago we night elves defeated the Burning Legion.' said Malfurion. 'Though the rest of the world was shattered, we were left free to live out our immortal lives in peace, bound to the World Tree. We are its Protectors, and through it, we were granted immortality and power over nature. Now, at last, it is time we gave that power back.'

'You realize that we will age as these mortals do.' said Tyrande. 'Our powers over nature will wane in time.'

'If pride gives us pause, my love,' said Malfurion. 'then perhaps we have lived long enough already. I will proceed to the summit and prepare our defenses there. Whatever comes, my love, remember our bond is eternal.' Then with that, he departed.

'Spare me,' muttered Arthas, 'the way he carries on you'd think the night elves had fought the war single handed. He wasn't there to see what the Legion did to my homeland.'

'What you did you mean.' said Jaina. 'This is… this is your fault. All of it.'

'I'll admit I made a few miscalculations.' said Arthas, feeling furious. 'But I wouldn't have made them if you and Uther had bothered to get your hands dirty.'

'Stratholme was a mistake-' began Jaina.

'I did what was necessary.' snapped Arthas. 'All of it, down to my taking up of Frostmourne was necessary. And before you tell me the ends don't justify the means, Hellscream got off scot free for a lifetime of genocide. Why? Because destiny said so. If he isn't going to be held accountable for his actions, why the hell should I have to face the music?

'If you'll excuse me I'll be in the front line. Try not to be late for this too.'

Then he marched off in disgust. It had not at all been a good reunion, but what had he been expecting? To his surprise, Illidan was walking alongside him at an easy pace.

'I take it you have some history with the Alliance leader.' mused Illidan.

'At one time we were betrothed.' said Arthas. 'We were young and stupid.' He paused. 'We still are. It feels like a lifetime since I last… I don't know.'

As he reached the base of the mountain, he saw the Alliance soldiers giving them wary glances. And so they should. Glares were the best which they received as they made their way past.

'Traitor!' said a man.

'Go back to the undead where you belong!' said another,

A stone was hurled and struck Arthas in the face. He promptly drew Frostmourne and pointed it at the man responsible. The man in question fell to his knees, shaking fearfully. 'No… please…'

'Careful who you throw stones at, fool.' said Arthas, before sheathing the blade and continuing.

'Why are you hated so by your race?' asked Illidan.

'I was once their greatest hope.' mused Arthas. 'Then I took up this sword and became a slave to the Legion. I've been trying to make up for it ever since. Or maybe I'm only interested in revenge on the people who have hurt me. I don't know, and I don't really care.'

They came to a halt at the entrance to the Alliance base, and there they waited. As they did so, something strange began to happen. The birds, all of the birds, began to fly out of the trees, fleeing away past them in great droves. Slowly the branches of the trees swaying before them began to wither. A fel wind blew in, bringing with it the scent of corpses.

 _ **'HERE ME NIGHT ELVES!'** _ roared Archimonde. _**'THE TIME FOR RECKONING HAS COME!'**_

'Here we go.' said Arthas, unsheathing Frostmourne as Illidan drew his glaives. Around them, the soldiers of the Alliance made final preparations for battle. Orcs and night elves came down to support them. Gryphon riders and hippogryphs and wyverns circled the skies. Footmen took their places in a line. Orcs were first, then humans, then the night elves. Priests were interspersed within the line alongside shamans and druids. Illidan and Arthas took their place among the orcs at the front. Warchief Thrall and Jaina could be seen riding along the lines with Jaina.

Furbolgs came down to join the defense as well and with them dark trolls. Tauren could be seen among them as well?

'So many races,' mused Illidan, 'never before in all the history of Azeroth has such a host been raised. If this is indeed to be the end of all things, then it will be one to remember.'

Arthas scoffed. He wondered if he should have told Thrall that Archimonde had seen the strands of fate. Probably not, there was no time now anyway. No time for anything. 'Well, I guess all I have left is to see this through. The Legion has taken everything from me. My friends, my home, my family. I'll take my vengeance before I'm through though.'

'By night's end we shall all be drunk with it.' said Illidan.

Tyrande rode up to meet with Jaina in front of the line. 'If we can hold this position here, and not be overwhelmed, we should be able to delay Archimonde's ascent.'

'Your plan is a bold one girl.' said Tyrande. 'Perhaps I have misjudged you, outlanders. May Elune shine upon you!'

An orc scoffed. 'These butchers have misjudged us?'

'Who the hell do they think they are.' said another.

'I wouldn't concern yourselves.' said Arthas .'We're all going to die anyway, so it won't matter. Even if we survive, I fully expect we'll all end up murdering each other in cold blood.'

'You might demonstrate optimism for once.' mused Illidan.

'Positive thinking only leads to disappointment.' said Arthas.

'…Point taken.' said Illidan.

'We'll kill many before we're through, however.' said the orc.

'Well, obviously.' said Arthas.

 _'To arms my brethren!'_ came Malfurion's voice. _'To arms brave orcs and humans! Twilight falls, and the enemy awaits.'_

And then came the undead. They rushed out of the trees, with slavering maws and long claws that reaved the earth. Behind them came the crypt fiends, and they were in great numbers indeed. Arrows were launched in great volleys upon the incoming ranks. Many of the undead fell dead beneath the volley. Still more died as rifles were fired upon them from the clifftops. Canons sent volleys of lead into their ranks. They were shredded and still, they came on.

'Fool,' said Arthas, 'he should have sent in Frostwyrms. He's too careless with his men.'

'The Legion cares not for how many of their minions die so long as they achieve their ends.' said Illidan. 'They believe in universal destruction.'

'The undead are people.' said Arthas. 'They have consciousnesses of their own.' He sighed. 'Still, at least they are those who ignored my orders.'

'Orders?' asked Illidan.

'Before I went to face Tichondrius I gave my undead standing orders. They were to abandon their posts and head for Lordaeron at the first chance they got.' said Arthas. 'It seems that a significant portion of the forces here remained loyal to the Legion, however.'

The ghouls were drawing nearer, and a runner came down the hill to approach the orc next to them. 'Saurfang,' said the soldier. 'Warchief Thrall orders that you launch a charge against the enemy line as they draw near. When you begin to get overwhelmed, you are to withdraw behind the Alliance'

'Then we shall do so.' said Saurfang. 'Warriors of the Horde! Ready your weapons! The time of battle is nigh! Ready your weapons!'

'Where in darkness is Thrall anyway?' asked Arthas. 'He doesn't seem the sort to sit on the sidelines.'

'He is meditating.' said Saurfang. 'Communing with the spirits to determine their will.'

'Wonderful,' said Arthas, 'well I suppose we'll manage without him.'

The undead drew nearer and nearer, their ranks coming closer and closer. Finally, Saurfang motioned forward. 'FOR THE HORDE!'

 **'FOR THE HORDE!'** echoed the warriors.

Then they charged towards the undead on foot. Arthas and Illidan rushed alongside the swarms of orcs towards their mutual enemy. Such was the sound of roaring and clamor that it drowned out all other sounds. The crypt fiends fired their projectiles and slew many orcs before they could reach them. Then the battle was joined.

Arthas and Illidan hacked through his enemies like scythes through wheat. Light poured from Frostmourne as Arthas hewed around him. He parried blows and cleaving bodies with a fury. Around him, he saw the orcs hacking their way through the ghouls. Not without casualties, for the undead fought well. Abominations rushed to join the fray, hewing down orcs around them.

Illidan raced too and fro, writhed in flames as he cut his way through the enemy ranks. Nothing could stop him as he carved down all who stood around him.

Yet then came the doomguards and fel beasts, who rushed into the fray and turned the tide against them. Arthas and Illidan found themselves far ahead of the main line. They were fighting back to back, their swords cutting down everything in sight. The orcs were withdrawing back to the main line, and Frostmourne was covered in blood.

'Illidan,' he said, beheading a fel hound, 'we'd best withdraw.'

'Yes,' said Illidan, 'these wretches can wait.' He crossed his arms, and a wave of fire burned an escape route through the undead lines.

The two of them turned and rushed back, fast pursued by the forces of the Legion. Already the stronger part of the Legion was coming. The demons were mustering behind the undead. Volleys still descended upon them, but now frostwyrms and gargoyles flew out. Even now they were dueling with gryphon, hippogryph and wyvern riders.

Reaching the Alliance line, Arthas and Illidan turned around to stand just in front of it.

For a few moments, they caught their breath as the Legion rushed towards them. The ground was shaking beneath their coming, and the trees around them were withering. The ground beneath their feet became blighted as they met the second line of defense.

Battle was joined.

* * *

Jaina could see Arthas and Illidan at the front of the line. The two of them were slaughtering the enemy by the dozens. Around them, the Alliance shield wall was hit hard. Yet it held firm and kept the Legion at bay. The arrows of the night elves and the rifles of the dwarves and even the spears of the trolls did their work. Furbolgs rushed out of the trees and slammed their claws against the legion.

The aerial battle above intensified. The blue dragon who had come here with Arthas slammed a skeletal dragon with her tail. It fell to earth to crash down upon the ground. Jaina raised a staff and summoned two water elementals, sending them into the fray. Then raising her staff sent waves of magical ice falling upon the enemy line. They died in droves, yet there were always more of them.

Satyrs came out of the blighted forests to assist their legion masters. Orcs rushed to help the humans, as tauren fought with them. On and on it went, and to Jaina, it seemed as if all the world had been mustered for one final conflict. Stormclouds were gathering in the skies above, threatening rain. Blood drenched the grass and trees in such numbers as to make every battle she had seen before this pale.

And Arthas stood at the center of it. None who tried to pass him lived to tell of it; his blade was drenched in blood, a cut was upon his brow. His cloak was flowing around him as he wielded both light and dark against the enemies of all that lived. There was no joy of battle there, none of the hope and zest for life which she had once learned to love about him.

Only the desire to kill as many sentient creatures as possible before at last death overtook him.

Sudden anger seized her, and she summoned her magic to unleash a storm of fire upon the Legion. Many of them burned to death, as ice claimed the lives of many more.

Then came the pit Lord. Once before Jaina had seen it from afar upon the fields of the Barrens. Azgalor rushed into battle, his weapon hewing down dozens of orcs and humans. The defensive line was shattered beneath his onslaught. The battle lines became a melee. A great shockwave scattered the archers. Ancient protectors hurled their boulders, only to be consumed in waves of flame.

In less than a minute the defenses were failing.

'Loreena!' said Jaina. 'Commit your reserves! Stop their advance!'

At her command, Loreena called out, and her soldiers rushed into battle to aid their comrades. And as they came, night elves came from all around, and trolls and orcs and flyers. Reinforcements had come, and they slammed into the Legion's assault, driving it back!

Jaina cast another blizzard into the incoming enemies. The Legion was thrown back. The undead were destroyed, the living servants of the demons panicked and fled. Hails of arrows shot by the night elves landed amongst them.

And yet many more came to replace them. Even as the defense sought to reestablish their position, the demons came on again. Azgalor was at the front, and this time the line was broken, the tired defenders were driven back in a panic of their own. Arthas and Illidan could be seen for a moment, hewing down their enemies. Then they were suddenly surrounded.

Jaina moved forward to bar her fleeing soldier's path. Behind them, the demons were rushing, and she knew there would be no time to reform. Raising a hand, she focused her power and summoned it. For a moment there was nothing. Then the shield appeared, flickering into place to bar the legions advance. The creatures slammed against it, their weapons tearing at it. They could not get through.

Jaina looked at the soldiers of the Alliance, of the Horde and the Night Elves. Many had died, and almost no one had escaped without being wounded. They were tired, and could not take much more of this. 'Riflemen form up, prepare to cover our retreat.'

'We're pulling out milady?' asked Loreena.

'Our defenses are broken.' said Jaina. 'We need to fall back to higher ground. Archers and spear throwers support them. All forces begin your withdrawal. We'll regroup at the orc base.'

It was a sorry sight watching her wounded men limp and be carried up the cliffs. The ancient protectors who remained uprooted themselves and began to lumber upwards. It was slow going, and the shield was breaking, cracks were forming in it.

Then it shattered, and the Legion charged through it with a roar. Flurries of gunfire, thrown spears and arrows hit them. Several more fell, and the enemy were repulsed for a moment. As they scattered Arthas and Illidan rushed from the fray. Both bore several wounds.

Jaina breathed a sigh of relief despite herself. They had survived.

They rushed to stand before the line, falling to their knees in exhaustion. Their faces were white, and their hands were trembling. Arthas looked up and spoke. '…Where do you need us, Jaina?'

'This is a holding action.' said Jaina. 'Both of you withdraw to the orc base, we'll follow shortly.'

'What of your own withdrawal?' asked Illidan.

Arthas clasped him by the shoulder. 'Don't worry, Jaina can take care of herself.'

They rushed off up the hill. As they did so, Jaina saw that the Legion had reformed but had not made any move to attack. All of the sky darkened even further. The ground behind was died and was consumed by fel energies as a shadow passed over them. Archimonde was there, looking down on them. A cold form of amusement was on his face.

'Your race is a courageous one, little human.' said Archimonde. 'Surrender, and I will spare your kind, and make from them a great power, unmatched by any save my own.'

For a moment Jaina considered it. The situation seemed to her more than hopeless. Logically the most likely result of her continued defiance was a very horrible death. So she should negotiate, and try to arrange for her survival. But logic could not account for the right thing to do. And just by negotiating with the demons, Jaina would become more and more like them. Until there was nothing left of who she once was.

Jaina laughed. 'Is talking all you demons do?'

Then she raised her staff. A blue light illuminated their surroundings. Then they were transported in an instant to the higher levels of Mount Hyjal.

Yet the voice of Archimonde followed them.

 _ **'Stormrage! Menethil! Show yourselves! Or do you intend to let mortal girls do all your fighting for you?!'**_

The first line of defense had fallen. And the Legion remained undeterred.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Okay, I've decided to split this chapter up into several parts, much like I did with the Death of Tichondrius. There is simply too much that needs to happen to chronicle it in one chapter. Sorry for the long delay, I've been focusing on other fanfics for a while.

By the way, thank you for all your constant support. Without you guys, I probably would have dropped this story long ago.

Enjoy!


	19. Twilight of the Gods Part 2

**Twilight of the Gods Part 2:**

The Legion had taken the base of the mountain. Even now the necromancers were picking their way amongst the dead. Satyrs tended to their wounded while still more demons entered. It was perhaps midday, though the darkening skies above them did not show it. It was very cool up near the peak of the mountain, and demons had not yet defiled the air here.

The unholy army was making no move upwards, instead of mustering its forces for the time of the assault. It seemed they were suffering from a shortage of manpower, and so needed time to reform. There was a tenseness in the air. Nature itself was coiling for a spring, and Malfurion Stormrage knew they must make the best of it.

Looking upon the World Tree, he saw the innumerable spirits of Ashenvale gathering. They were not yet all here, but there were many, yet not enough. They needed more time. For a moment he kept looking at the tree which had been there so long. Yet he could remember a time it had not been there at all. He was old, very old.

He had not become better in that time, or adapted to new times. He had gone unchanged by the passing of time. From the peak of Mount Hyjal, he turned his gaze down to the orc encampment.

There were many wounded there, and too few priests. Many of those who could heal were tired, having expended much of their magic earlier. Mourning the loss of so many brave soldiers, Malfurion motioned with his staff. By his will alone it began to rain, then pour. And as the water hit the wounds of men, those wounds closed.

People who had been pale and dying arose in new strength. Those who had been exhausted found strength restored to their limbs. It was the least Malfurion could do to ease their burden. He scanned the crowds, trying to see any sign of Tyrande. Yet there were far too many people down there for him to pick her out.

Then she appeared from the shadows. She had several fresh cuts on her face that had not yet been washed away by the rain. 'Furion,' said Tyrande, 'will you heed Archimonde's challenge?'

Malfurion considered it. 'No, not yet, I am not so proud as to be drawn into a battle that easily. Still, something about all this is strange. I can understand Archimonde's grudge against my family line. I believe he blames me chiefly for his defeat in the War of the Ancients, though it was hardly all my doing. Yet what of this Menethil?'

'I believe it is the name of the unholy one who fights alongside Illidan.' said Tyrande. 'The Lady Proudmoore tells me that he was a leader of great renown among his kind before he fell to the Legions side.'

'And now he has turned against them in turn.' mused Malfurion. 'I can see why Illidan holds some affection for him; they are alike in many ways. Still, for Archimonde to call him to task alongside my name, he must have been mighty indeed.'

'Illidan tells me that he slew Tichondrius, and the orcs speak of this Arthas with deep respect. Almost as a liberator.' said Tyrande. 'Yet we heard not the faintest rumor of any of this until the orcs entered our realm. We night elves have been sealed away from the world too long, I think. That must change, as all things do.'

'We don't change, my love.' said Malfurion. 'We are much the same as we once were. Only… faded. As though we have been frozen within the river of time. I think I will take my place amongst the defenders. This peril belongs to all equally.'

The rain slackened, leaving the army restored to health and vigor.

* * *

Upon a hillock rising above the orcish base, Saurfang approached Thrall. The Warchief was sitting cross-legged, his trusted wolf mount sitting some ways away. The Warchief had his eyes closed, and his hands were open and on his knees, palms facing upwards. Around him, the spirits coursed, speaking of many things. So powerful was their presence that Saurfang could see them. The air seemed to be pulsing with primal forces, the ground around Thrall trembling.

'Warchief,' he said 'the Horde stands ready. Will you not lead?'

Thrall did not respond. His eyes were blank and unseeing. The pulsing grew more prominent. Saurfang wondered if he could hear him, and then decided it did not matter. If Thrall could not command he would have to do so in his place. Turning he made his way back to the Horde.

He was met by many warriors. 'What did the Warchief say?'

'Thrall is deep in meditation.' said Saurfang. 'I do not know what his plan is, yet we have trusted him thus far, and he has not led us astray. We will continue to fight for him.'

'I be sensing powerful energies mustering around da Warchief.' said Vol'jin. 'We should be letting him be.'

'Spare us, troll.' said a cold voice. 'Your kin have no respect for life, so how could you possibly hope to wield its magics?'

Vol'jin looked up to where Shandris Feathermoon was stringing her bow. His eyes narrowed. 'That be big words coming from da cowards who attacked us first.'

'You enter our lands with neither leave nor permission.' said Shandris. 'You felled trees which had stood for ages, and desecrated the lands of our people. If your kind has suffered by our hands, it is well deserved.'

'For one who has need of us, you show little respect.' said Saurfang.

'We didn't need you until you screwed everything up.' snapped Shandris. 'We had everything under control before you came in and killed Cenarius. All you're doing is helping to fix a situation you created!'

'Under control?' asked Arthas as he came up behind. 'Three separate demonic invasions took place in the last thirty years alone. You didn't even notice. If the orcs hadn't burst into your forest, you would have done nothing.'

'It was you who brought Archimonde into this world, to begin with! You are hardly one to talk!' said Shandris.

'The elf has a point.' mused Saurfang.

'At least I wasn't aware that I was selling my soul at the time.' noted Arthas. 'Which is more than can be said for your entire race.'

'Enough!' said Jaina. 'We're all responsible for this!'

'I'm not.' said a furbolg.

'Okay, so we're all responsible except you.' Jaina. 'What is important is that we stop the Legion's advance.'

'Much as I'd like to cheer you on for developing into a leader, that's not really an option Jaina.' said Arthas. 'Archimonde is so powerful that the best we can hope for is to keep him occupied long enough for him to get bored. Then he'll take direct action. Then we'll all die.'

'Will you stop saying things like that?' said Jaina, in exasperation.

'Someone has to have some kind of perspective here.' replied Arthas.

* * *

'To arms!' cried a soldier. 'To arms! The Legion comes!'

As soon as those words rang out there was no more time for discussion. Tyrygosa launched herself from where she was perched. She watched as every man and woman, orc, human, elf, and everything besides rushed to their stations. Below them, a new tide was washing up the slopes of Mount Hyjal. Not all of it was undead, however. For among their lines could be seen satyrs and lesser demons while doomguards came up behind.

Azgalor who had slain so many before was marshaling his host. Their cries echoed as they charged up the slope towards the second line. Guns were fired, spears were hurled, great stones were thrown through the air to land amidst the enemy. The twang of bows was heard by every ear. Three whole ranks were obliterated.

Yet there were always more. Throughout the blighted woodlands, all the enemies of good were flowing forth. For a victory here would spell the end of all hope for the righteous. Tyrygosa flew low over the Legion and breathed her icy breath upon them. Many died, yet arrows and spears were hurled in turn, and she was nearly shot from the sky. A hippogriff rider shot arrows down below, but was caught by a bolt of fel magic and sent spiraling to her death.

Turning in midair, the blue dragoness flew away from the battle and watched the melee begin. Arthas, Illidan, and Saurfang were at the front, hacking down all who came before them. Orc and human fought as one to hold back the tide — the weapons of the night elves and other denizens of Ashenvale forest slew many.

Yet on came the Legion. On came the tide. The defense of the mountain was like a great and immovable rock. But the waters of evil beat against it again, and again until little by little it yielded before them.

Azgalor returned, joining the battle at last with his elite guard and the line buckled beneath it. The strike was harder this time. Tyrygosa thought for a moment thought they would be forced to abandon the second line of defense.

Then what seemed a star from heaven fell upon the Legion's line. It exploded into a shockwave of fire which consumed a dozen undead. Tyrygosa saw that the heavens had opened to pour their wrath on their enemies. Demons and undead, satyrs and other monstrous being screamed as they were scorched. The assault wavered, the lines reformed!

Then fire of a different kind came from heaven. Tyrygosa was nearly knocked from the sky an infernal shot past her. It landed on the ground, scattering the defense. More and more of them fell, and even as hope had been restored the Legion regained its power.

A Dreadlord walked among the fray, calm and terrible. A wave of dark fire consumed a group of orcs. Unnatural sleep fell upon many of the great champions of good. All around him, the Legions wounds were healed as they inflicted great injury on the good.

Azgalor returned, leading his rallied forces in charge. And Tyrygosa knew that if they met the forces of good now, it would be the end. Not just of this line of defense but of the battle. Of the war! Of all things good and green in this world and who knew how many others!

Descending the dragoness roared, meaning to stop Azgalor. She poured ice upon the legions forces, and gryphon riders hurled their hammers. Wyvern riders hurled their spears to deadly accuracy. Many of the enemy were dead.

Yet it was not enough!

Azgalor roared a battle cry as he came towards the scattered defenders for one final attack!

Then Malfurion Stormrage barred his path.

With a wave of the Druids' hand, great vines arose and grabbed Azgalor. They dragged him down, halting his advance. The trees themselves arose in wrath and rushed to assail those who would defile the land. Then Illidan rushed from the fray, his blades covered in the blood of demons. He passed by the restrained Pit Lord and landed on one knee.

Azgalor roared and exploded into flame, scorching the land around him.

His minions, terrified of Illidan, turned and fled. As Tyrygosa flew back over the battlefield, she saw Arthas. He was hewing down an infernal with Frostmourne. Saurfang and many other heroes fought similar battles.

Jaina Proudmoore was engaged in a duel with the Dreadlord. Her water elementals were fighting with his infernals. Her ice was matched against his fel magics. Lights flew between them, fire and ice, dark and light.

Then suddenly Jaina Proudmoore was gone, teleporting away in blue light.

The Dreadlord Anetheron scoffed. Then a hole was blown in his chest from behind.

As he slumped to the ground, Jaina Proudmoore turned to walk away without a word. She had teleported behind him, and shot him in the back. Not the most glorious of victories, but it had been done. Indeed, only a very skilled mage could have done it so quickly and with such precision.

Cheers came from the remaining defenders as the last of the demons were slain or run off. The shattered remnants of the Legion fled downwards towards Archimonde. The demonlord who stood there, silent in his fury.

* * *

Archimonde looked upon the shattered remnants of his forces. More than anything he wished to slay them, to burn them! He should tear them apart for this humiliation! Yet that would only damage his already fleeting reserves further. No, he could not longer afford to be so casual with the lives of his forces.

It might have been otherwise had the Proudmoore girl defected. Her presence might have been used to bring Arthas into the fold. He needed a leader, someone to bring humanity into the fold. Until he had that, he would have to make due with these wretches.

'The fools could scarcely even hurt them.' he hissed. 'Are there none left to stand for the Legion?' He looked down to his last remaining commander on the field. 'Kirrasan, rally what remains of our forces and fall back to the rear lines.'

Kirrassan stared at him open-mouthed for a moment. 'We're retreating?'

'You are retreating.' said Archimonde in disgust, and then he looked to the Legion. 'You have failed me. Completely and utterly, and with that failure I am forced to take a direct hand once again. Flee now, pathetic creatures, and watch as I do your work for you! Go! Before I lose patience!'

The Legion fled in terror, and Archimonde looked up to the slopes of Mount Hyjal. Surprisingly he found that his anger with Stormrage had subsided. It was more a longstanding grudge he meant to fulfill in due time. Nothing that had happened here was because of Stormrage. The fool had played right into the Legion's hands by clinging to the Emerald Dream. Archimonde's subordinates had worked freely while he slept.

No, Stormrage was not worth his anger anymore.

Tichondrius was dead. Mannaroth was dead. Azgalor was fallen, and Anetheron had joined him. Only Kazzak and Kirrassan remained now to Archimonde. And what resources did they have to command? Inexperienced and worthless creatures such as those who had just failed him utterly. The cream of the Legion, their greatest warriors, all were dead.

And Archimonde knew who to blame.

* * *

The Legion was beaten! Orc and human embraced! Cheers came from all! Against all odds, against all obstacles and impossibilities, they had won! They had smashed the assault, and now the Legion was withdrawing with its tail between its legs!

'We got the bastards!' roared a footman.

'Glory to the Horde!' cried an orc.

'Elune's Wrath fell from the heavens and sent them away!'

'Those stars falling from heaven,' said Jaina, 'they were yours weren't they?'

'A rare power,' said Tyrande. 'used only in times of great need. It can be very destructive.'

'I noticed.' said Jaina. 'So was the rain yours as well?'

'No, Furion has always had that talent. Using the rain to heal injuries is his specialty.' said Tyrande.

This wasn't right. It was so inconceivable to Malfurion that he hardly knew what to think. Had Archimonde given up? Was the prophecy truly in vain? Had the unstoppable Lord of the Legion should failed utterly in his assault? A small hope was coming now into his heart.

Perhaps the night elves truly would remain immortal. Perhaps eternity would not end!

 **'Menethil.'**

The cheers died as that word resounded throughout Mount Hyjal. The flames of hope went out in an instant. Men and woman looked down below with faces pale. The leaders came to the front, and they saw that though most of the Legion had fled, Archimonde remained.

He wasn't moving yet. Just standing there, face very calm. Posture casual, far more casual than anything Malfurion had seen. It was somehow far more terrible than any wrathful boast he had yet made.

 **'Menethil.'** The voice was stronger now, laced with hate.

The leaders assembled as quickly.

'What's happening?' asked Jaina.

Malfurion opened his mouth to speak, yet he found himself unable to.

'We've fallen victim to our very success.' said Illidan. 'Archimonde has nothing left to throw at us. He will come for us himself, soon.'

'The preparations are not done!' said Malfurion. 'It… we need more time.'

Jaina remained silent. 'If we throw everything we have at him we might-'

'It won't make any difference.' said Illidan shaking his head. 'Archimonde is a power beyond the strength of any in this world. He could crush all of us in but a moment.'

 **'Menethil.'**

Archimonde exploded with power. The woods themselves recoiled, the air blurred with the heat of his radiance. He set one foot down, and flames spread out from it, not just blighting the ground, but burning it. He walked forward up the path that the corpses of his army were now lying on.

Fear took hold of everyone.

It was at that point that Thrall returned. Murmurs came from all who saw him, for he seemed to pulse with an energy of his own.

Arthas looked at him with a raised eyebrow. 'Where the hell have you been?'

'I have been communing with the spirits of all things.' said Thrall. 'Plants, animals, and the people who live alongside them. Archimonde will not long stand against us now.'

Archimonde drew near. Trained soldiers threw themselves on their faces and screamed in dismay. Panic overtook the army. Yet Thrall turned around and put forth one hand. As he did so, the earth began to tremble all throughout Mount Hyjal. The clouds darkened even further, and the light of day waned.

Archimonde was upon them.

Then lightning was unleashed from Thrall's hand. It was not a flurry of lightning bolts, nor an ordinary sort of chain lightning. It was a single bolt of lighting so massive that as it surged towards Archimonde, the demon halted. Archimonde raised one hand to block it. For a moment the onslaught of energy was held back, yet soon the ground beneath his feet began to shake. Fire and water surged up from cracks in the earth to scorch him. Lightning bolts poured down from above to strike him.

There was deafening crack and then was consumed in a massive burst of the elements. Trees all around them shattered and burned beneath the onslaught. Whole sections of the mountains earth were dislodged. They flowed down the mountain in a mudslide. Smoke rose higher and higher, as fires could be seen starting throughout the realm of nature. For a long moment, there was absolute silence.

'…What did you do?' asked Jaina.

'I contacted the spirits of the entire world with my power of far sight.' said Thrall. 'Lordaeron, the Barrens, Ashenvale and so many others. The land itself groaned beneath the Legions efforts. I convinced the spirits there to lend me all the strength they could spare. Then I unleashed it in one single attack upon Archimonde.

'It seems to have worked.'

'He isn't dead.' said Illidan.

'You don't know that-' began Jaina.

'I am blind. I sense life to compensate for the fact.' said Illidan. 'Archimonde is alive.'

'Your perceptive for one who has rotted beneath the earth for ten thousand years.' said Archimonde in a droll tone.

The smoke cleared and Archimonde emerged as a leisurely walk. He was burned in many places and had several serious looking bruises. It had actually done more damage than Malfurion had been expecting. The Archdruid was impressed, despite himself. Then Archimonde raised one hand, a bolt of energy shot forth and took Thrall in the chest. The Warchief cried out and hit the ground.

'Thrall!' cried Jaina, kneeling by his side.

Archimonde approached. 'You orcs are strong and well worth my efforts. I see now why Mannaroth sought to bring you back into the fold. You should surrender and be spared the flame.'

Murmurs of fear came among the orcs, and all eyes turned to Thrall.

'Our spirit… is stronger than you know, demon!' roared Thrall, rising up despite the pain. 'If we are to fall, then so be it! At least now we are free!'

'Fine words for one about to embrace oblivion!' snapped Archimonde.

The Alliance and Horde, the Night Elves and the denizens of Ashenvale had faced many horrors. Yet before the unbridled power which now emerged from the smoke, they could do nothing but flee in terror.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

Okay, so here we have part 2 of Twilight of the Gods. Thrall's spirit assault was something I had planned for a long time. I'm not really sure I'm satisfied with how it came out to be honest. What wasn't planned was Archimonde getting a personal grudge against Arthas.

I guess Arthas has been the most persistent herald of woe for the Legion who Archimonde is aware of. So it makes sense. Also, you may have noticed that Archimonde is offering Jaina and Thrall a chance to join him. This is because he is short on Lieutenants and has a much higher opinion of his enemies.

Enjoy!


	20. The Death of Archimonde

**Chapter Eighteen: The Death of Archimonde**

It was a complete rout. The forces of good fled in terror, blinding through the woods. Furbolgs howled in despair. Orc and human alike threw down their weapons in their haste to escape the inevitable. Arthas himself had joined them, for he was terrified of Archimonde. The demon had inflicted many fates worse than death, and Arthas suspected he had one in mind for him. The paladin did not have any particular idea of escape or any plan for survival. Only to get as far away from Archimonde as possible. Even now the demon was scaling the mountain, and he had to… had to…

'Stop running you fool!' a voice roared in his mind.' It won't do you any good!'

It was the command in the voice which caused him to slow his flight. He let the retreat flee beyond his sight. It was no good running from what was happening now. He had to go back and do what he must. Even so, he hesitated. The path down the mountain was easier, clearer. There was a route to safety, short-lived safety, but it meant he would not have to face Archimonde.

He mastered himself. It was the hardest decision he'd ever made in life, but did it. Turning around he began to scale higher, running towards Archimonde instead. Yet his common sense was now rebelling against him. This was ridiculous! What did he hope to accomplish by facing the demon? The spirits of the land had been ineffective!

At that moment he became aware that Invincible had appeared. It nuzzled him, and he scratched it behind nonexistent ears, suddenly very calm. 'Yes, you are right. We have things to finish.'

He ignored his good sense, his common sense, and his sense of self-preservation and he ran. Pulling himself into the saddle, he rode upwards. And hoped he would catch the demon before it was too late.

He found Archimonde near the peak and around him languished the sacred grove of the night elves. The great trees moaned and groaned in horror as they were tortured by the spells of the demon. Archimonde no longer had taken on the appearance of a giant. Now he was only a little taller than Arthas himself, eight feet in height. Once it would have been a significant difference but now… Now it was even more threatening. Above them, the World Tree gathered all the energies of nature together, yet it was not enough. They needed more time.

Yet there was no one left to resist him — no one but Arthas.

Archimonde waved a hand, and the ancients died with cries. They spoke of unfathomable suffering. Then he turned to Arthas in full. There was utter silence between them, as Arthas dismounted and sent Invincible away. Slowly they neared one another.

'I spent eons building the Legion into what it was.' said Archimonde. 'And you've destroyed it all in a matter of months.' His voice was filled with hate, but it was a tired and resigned sort of hate. It was an echo of Arthas' mentor which horrified him.

He realizes he was staring with eyes wide as realization dawned. Archimonde was tired of this war and seemed to shrink down to his level. Of course, he was, things had not gone as he had hoped. His every victory had been twisted into something to injure him further. He had lost many people who were important to him, if only as subordinates. And though he was victorious, the cost had been too high. It was like looking into a mirror of himself long ago, on that day in Northrend when he faced Mal'ganis, Frostmourne in hand.

'I have only done to you what you have done to countless other worlds.' said Arthas, shaken from both fear and anger. 'To Lordaeron, to Quel'thalas, to Ashenvale. How many races have seen their sons and daughters and fathers and sons taken from by this war? People they loved and held precious far beyond simple use. What loss have you endured to compare?' He had to keep stalling.

'It was not by my hand that the Eastern Kingdoms were laid to waste.' scoffed Archimonde. 'Nor your subordinates betrayed. I was brought into this world by you. You and a thousand other mortals into a thousand other worlds. Their inequities drove them to betray and destroy. You and those like you are living testament to the Legion's necessity. A wrathful traitor who throws away even his own life in pursuit of vengeance.'

It was only then that he truly understood Archimonde. With that understanding, the last vestiges of his hatred died away. 'It doesn't work that way.' he said. 'You reap the benefits of your subordinates' victories. You cannot own responsibility for their actions. And to be perfectly honest… I have no strong feelings regarding you whatsoever.

'Not for lack of threat, but… well… Mal'ganis played on my pride and forced me to kill my people. Tichondrius treated me with contempt and killed my friend, Kel'thuzad. Yet with you, the mastermind of it all, I don't feel anything.

'I know it's not rational, but, revenge rarely is. In fact, I almost pity you.'

'What?' said Archimonde, condescension cast aside.

'You seem to have convinced yourself that only the bad things in life are real.' said Arthas. 'Hope, courage, friendship, and mercy. These things are but fleeting and abstract concepts to you. Useful only so far as they advance your agenda of annihilation. Yet hatred? Despair? Cruelty and injustice? Manipulating and binding others to your will? You have such mastery of them that you cannot help but understand them.

'It seems such a sad way to live.'

Utter silence gripped them both. An errant wind sent Arthas' cloak and hair flowing around him as he gripped Frostmourne. The spirits mustered and Archimonde did not reply. He regarded Arthas with a sort of recognition.

'There it is.' said Archimonde suddenly. 'That same self-righteous aura worn by every do-gooder and would be hero. By everyone who chooses to stand their ground in the face of total annihilation and fail. Perhaps you have become one of their sort.

'A paladin would need a creative excuse to reject you. For my part it only makes me feel that much better about doing this.'

He drew back one hand and summoned a sphere of blue fire, but Arthas was faster. Frostmourne arced downward, gleaming in the sun. Around it flamed both light and darkness. It was flaring more brilliantly than any he had ever summoned. Such was the power coursing through his blade that in an instant Arthas knew he could win. It was not hopeless; he could-

Archimonde caught the sword in one hand. Light and Dark were extinguished, and the attack came to an abrupt end. A thin line of blood dripped down the demons palm, as Arthas tried to free his sword. Archimonde smiled.

'Shit.' said Arthas.

Archimonde let go of Frostmourne unleashed his spell. It hit Arthas head on. His entire body went numb as he was sent tumbling backward head over heels. He slammed into the ground and tearing a line of dirt in the turf as he slid to a halt. His entire body was in agony, and his armor was smoking and cracked. Gasping for air, he arose and raised Frostmourne. Then he saw Archimonde appearing before him, sword in hand. He tried to raise Frostmourne to parry the coming blow.

The blade was knocked from his hand. Then Archimonde brought around one leg to roundhouse kick him. Arthas was thrown back nearly thirty feet to slam into a tree, bending his armor. He heard a number of cracks in his body and gasped in sheer agony. One of his arms was broken, hanging by his side Arthas groaned as he pulled himself up. His bones and flesh were knitting, but Archimonde was coming towards him again.

Arthas punched him in the face. The arm which did the punching was not fully healed, and Arthas reeled in agony. Archimonde stepped back a pace; his face turned away from him. Then he looked back, fury in his eyes. His lip was dripping blood.

Archimonde pulled Arthas up by the hair, kneed him in the gut, before hauling him around to slam him into the ground. Arthas felt something else crack inside him. The sensation of a boot hitting his side resounded through him. Something else cracked as he rolled away.

'Miserable creature!' roared Archimonde, putting a foot on his head and crushing him into the ground. 'Ages spent gathering together the most ruthless and cunning! The most powerful demons into my high command! Endless hours and days and months and years spent playing them against each other! All so that they all served me without question! The greatest army the world had ever known at my command, greater even than in the days of Sageras of old! 'And it is gone! Burned down in less than a year by a petulant hairless ape! One with no great lineage to his race beyond being the mutated disease spawn of broken machines! I'll wring your miserable neck!' Removing his foot, he drew Arthas up by the side of his cloak and wrapped his hands around his neck to crush it.

Arthas' every nerve was on fire with agony, and he couldn't breathe. However one of his arms had finished healing. Mustering the last of his strength, he raised it fired a death coil into Archimonde's right eye.

The Demon Lord roared in pain, and his grip was loosed as he stepped backward. Arthas hit the ground and could do no more. Archimonde removed his hand from his eye to reveal it was reddened. He summoned into his hand his sword to finish him.

Then a lightning bolt surged from nowhere and struck Archimonde in the back.

'What?!' roared Archimonde, turning around.

Thrall was there on wolf back, and then he was fleeing. Archimonde raised a hand and summoned magic to it. And then a bolt of fire struck him from behind again. Jaina was there. 'Hey,' she said, appearing to kneel by him.

'Jaina…' said Arthas, spitting up blood, 'get out of here you fool!.'

'Not without you.' she said.

Archimonde turned around to see them and raised a hand. He summoned a spell that would doubtless kill them both. Yet was too late. Jaina had already cast her teleport spell. There was a flaring of blue light and then were away.

They reappeared in a little glade, untouched by the blight which had consumed much of Mount Hyjal. The remnants of the Alliance and Horde forces had gathered. They saw Thrall ride back into the clearing and Jaina appear they cheered.

'Lady Jaina,' said a soldier, bearing the emblem of Colonel, 'we feared the worst.'

'The worst may be about the happen if we didn't stall him long enough, Loreena.' reflected Jaina. 'Don't celebrate yet. Still, either way, this battles is as good as over.'

 _ **'I WILL DEAL WITH YOU AFTER THE END OF ALL THINGS, MORTALS!'**_ roared Archimonde. _**'AFTER THE END OF ALL THINGS!'**_

'Are you alright?' asked Jaina.

'Fine,' said Arthas as he pulled himself up, 'in a lot of pain. My armor is sticking into me all over; he wrecked it the bastard.'

'You're lucky that is all he wrecked.' said Jaina.

'Help me get this stuff off. Quickly!' said Arthas.

Getting the armor off was a painful process which left Arthas feeling very sore. They did it as quickly as possible. When at last his broken and shattered breastplate landed on the ground he felt regret. This armor had been with him since the very beginning of his time amongst the scourge. It had served him well, and now it was ruined.

He was now standing there in a gray tunic, and pants. He must not have looked nearly so menacing as his reputation supposed. Perhaps there was a symbol in there of a passing of one stage of his life. It didn't matter.

'Invincible!' His horse came as called.

'You aren't considering going back?!' asked Jaina.

'That depends,' said Arthas, 'did Malfurion say that his plans were complete.'

'No,' said Jaina, 'we didn't exactly have time to consult him you know.'

'Then I've still got to stall him.' said Arthas. 'By the time I get up there, my injuries will have healed.' He paused as he realized he didn't have a sword. He looked to Loreena. 'You, give me your sword.'

She hesitated.

'Do it, Loreena.' said Jaina.

Loreena drew her sword and handed it to Arthas who tested its weight. 'Thank you,' he said, before spurring his horse, 'go now, Invincible. Show the mortal horses true speed! HA!'

And he was off.

* * *

Arthas Menethil had escaped. No matter, beating him into the ground had been satisfying. Besides, the swift death Archimonde would have given him in a moment of wrath was far too good for him. No, he would take his time tormenting the wretch's soul. Perhaps he could create a new Lich King from him? It had a certain karmic ring to it after all.

Either way, Archimonde turned and walked to approach the gate barring the path to the World Tree. He would destroy the gate, steal the tree's energies and that would be that. His wrath having passed him by, he reflected that he had won anyway. Oh yes, there would likely be a lengthy period of reconstruction after this fiasco. But it was nothing a bit of time and effort couldn't fix. He had all the time in the world.

And then Illidan Stormrage ran in front of him and readied his glaives.

The sight was so absurd, and yet Archimonde felt that he should have been expecting it. And yet he had not been. He was an optimist at heart. Then he noticed that Illidan was shaking. The fool was terrified out of his mind, and yet he stood his ground nonetheless.

'Go back, demon!' called Illidan. 'You shall not pass this threshold!'

'I should take some satisfaction in the knowledge that at least one Stormrage has courage. While you're brother cowers and waits for the end.' mused Archimonde. 'Tell me, do you still hold delusions of victory? Or is this merely a stand of principle.'

'Turn back.' said Illidan. 'You will not enter this place.'

'Do you truly believe you can deny me passage?!' asked Archimonde. 'I have crushed your armies. The heroes of all races flee before me, and you delude yourself into believing you can stop me?!' Sudden anger washed over him. 'I am Archimonde! I kill without mercy, and none may bar my passage! The citadels of mortals are laid to waste at my merest whim! The Paladin Order and the Lich King were as nothing before me! Where is their chosen protege upon whom they placed all their hopes!

'He is crushed and defeated by my hand! What injuries I have sustained were only wrought upon me because I stand in the heart of my enemies power! All the strength of the spirits, all the power of light and dark! These things are as nothing before my immortal power!'

'Believe what you will, demon.' said Illidan, mastering himself. 'To cross this threshold will be the end of you.'

'Die.' said Archimonde.

He summoned a moderate amount of his power forth in a single beam of brilliant white light. It hit Illidan head on. For a moment the Demon Hunter strove against it, setting his full power to halt it. Then it surged past him and annihilated the gate, blasting it into a thousand splinters. Archimonde smiled and walked forward.

'This has been far more difficult than I liked.' muttered Archimonde. 'Had I known the mortal resistance would be so strong, I would have launched this invasion centuries later.' Then he realized that there was no one left to oppose him. 'At last! The way to the World Tree is clear! _**WITNESS THE END, YOU MORTALS! THE FINAL HOUR HAS COME!**_

* * *

And across the world people of all races and walks of life looked up in silent terror. They knew the voice which spoke to them, and they perceived now their deadly peril. Despair overtook, undead and living alike cowered in fear at what they knew was to come. A deadly joy was now upon Archimonde as he began to scale the tree. From all his concerns of the moment, his mind was freed. For he could sense the energy pulsing within the World Tree, and he had waited for this moment for eons.

Yet from where he stood on a nearby hillock, watching the demon lord scale the tree, Malfurion smiled. The death of Illidan was… a loss, but there had already been so many sacrifices. And in his death, Illidan had bought the time needed for one final triumph. Malfurion would record this, so all could know the tale of his brother's redemption.

It was the least he could do.

'Archimonde's victory here has made him overconfident.' he said to the spirits. 'He will not see the trap I made for him until it is too late.'

He then heard the padding of tiger paws on the ground and glanced back to see Tyrande rushing up the slope. Her left arm was in a sling, and she had a cut on her face. Her tiger too sported several wounds, but she was alive.

'The outlanders held him back as long as they could.' she said. 'Were you successful in planning the summits defense?'

'Yes,' said Malfurion, 'now our victory is assured.'

* * *

Dusk was waning into the night. The last light of the setting was falling behind the trees. Archimonde set his hand to the World Tree and began his work. Yet something was bothering him. Perhaps it was how the mortals had foiled his efforts up until now. The way his plans had always been twisted beyond his control for some greater injury. And now he found himself looking for one final terrible injury, perhaps out of paranoia. Or perhaps simple caution.

And he found it.

Just in time, he found it.

A horn call, the horn of Cenarius echoed throughout the woodlands. A breeze whispered through the trees, and Archimonde knew his peril. His hands trembled, his heart beat faster, as all the designs and plotting of his enemies were laid bare to him! They had not been trying to stop him; they had been trying to delay him! To give time for one final trap!

For a moment panic filled Archimonde, and he saw all around him the spirits of Ashenvale coming forth. They came from the rocks and the trees and the rivers. All of them, any one of which would have been totally harmless, yet together... Together coupled with the power of the World Tree they could kill him!

Malfurion planned to sacrifice the immortality of his race to slay him!

No. It would not happen. Archimonde had the World Tree! He redoubled his efforts, and he gathered into power into him for a smaller spell, a quicker one! A defense, one to bar off the spirits passage! Yes, they were separated from him! The trap was jammed!

Malfurion had been too late! Too late, the fool! Did he truly think Archimonde would be so overconfident as to not keep his guard up? At now of all times, when the very fate of the world was at stake! He had the power now! The spirits assailed him in vain, swirling helplessly!

In triumph, Archimonde turned to finish his spell. To weave the final assault to wipe clean this world of all life. He could feel Malfurion's despair; he could feel the horror and shock of the mortals. For a moment they had thought they had had him. For a moment they had hope.

Now that hope was shattered!

Soon the world would follow.

Then there was a pain, a terrible blinding pain that stabbed through Archimonde's heel. His concentration was broken, and he looked down. Illidan Stormrage was still alive! Burned and dripping with his own blood, but alive! He had scaled the roots of the World Tree behind Archimonde, and driven his blade into his foot!

It was a moment's distraction, but it was enough. The spirits broke through his defense. The power of the World Tree was turned against him. Archimonde roared and reeled as he was torn and bitten by the spirits. Each one was like the stinging of a wasp, alone without effect, but together a biting and lethal agony!

He flailed and sought to regain control!

But it was too late!

Too late.

At that moment, as the World Tree pulsed with the full power of the Well of Eternity, with the full power of nature. With the full power of light and darkness, and all else that could be turned to good in this realm. And in that single instant, before death took him, Archimonde knew that his vision for the universe would not come to pass. Azeroth would not fall. He had failed.

He roared in despair and horror, and then everything went white.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Okay, this chapter was actually done a couple of days ago. I just choose to hold off on releasing it for a bit to give people time to read the previous one. So what is there to say? Not much really, other than I greatly enjoyed writing Archimonde's villainous breakdown.

I considered having Illidan attain demon form or something at the last minute. But if I'd done that his fight with Archimonde would have ended exactly the same. So why make it more complicated, y'know?

Next chapter we have the epilogue.


	21. Exile and Homecoming

**Epilogue: Exile and Homecoming**

Arthas had come to a ledge overlooking the World Tree and see Archimonde scaling it. At that moment he'd known that he would be too late to interfere. Thus he had dismounted and set his blade on the ground to watch the end of all things. He'd seen as Archimonde was surrounded by spirits. He'd been horrified as Archimonde defeated their assault. Finally, he'd been amazed as a still living Illidan drove his blade into Archimonde's foot.

The resulting explosion cast the needles from every pine. It blackened the trees around with a wave of fire and shook the ground beneath his feet. The World Tree was for a moment surrounded by a forest of flame. Then it and Archimonde exploded in a brilliant flash of light.

Arthas was thrown from his feet by the backlash. Invincible neighed, rearing up on his hind legs before racing off.

For a moment Arthas lay there, stunned. He pulled himself up and saw the blackened remnants of the World Tree. Archimonde was gone, and the night was falling upon the world. The moon and stars were covered by clouds. Soon it was dark. The world had been saved.

Illidan had been down there.

Arthas made his way down into the blackened woods, seeking his friend. Yes, his friend, he'd felt a connection with the elf. He'd enjoyed their back and forth talk. Now he was dead. As he trudged through the ashes, he realized that victory was his. Victory belonged to the world. Yet it was a bitter one indeed, for all around the world the land had been tainted and blighted. Many mothers mourned lost sons and daughters. Many fathers would never return home to their families.

It was soon pitch black, and he could see ahead of him by a foot. He took to his feet so as to not miss anything, and groped in the darkness.

'Illidan!' he called. 'Illidan can you hear me?!'

No one answered. This was ridiculous, Illidan was dead! If Archimonde could not survive the explosion of the World Tree, what hope did the Demon Hunter have? Even so, Arthas pressed on, seeking at least his body. At the very least he could make sure he wasn't left out for the crows to feast on. In time the stars came out, by their light, he was able to see a bit better.

He called again and again until his hand fell over a familiar weapon. Drawing up Frostmourne from where he had fallen, he realized he had scaled to very near where he had been before. It was unharmed.

'Light,' he said, 'I have never been one for prayer. However if this once I could save someone… I need to do this, or I will die again. Like at Stratholme.'

Arthas made his way through the darkness, feeling bitter and exhausted. He came to the roots and picked his way amongst them. He might find a body if the roots had survived the explosion.

'You took your time, Death Knight.' snapped a cynical voice from above.

'Illidan?!' asked Arthas, looking up.

There he was, lying within the roots of the World Tree, or what was left of it. He was burned, and bleeding, and looked in a foul temper. Arthas ran to him and kneeled down by him. 'How did you survive? I mean-'

'After I stabbed Archimonde I hid within the roots.' hissed Illidan. 'Then I wielded its power to create a defensive shield.'

'You knew how to control the World Tree's energies?' asked Arthas. 'How?'

'The World Tree was grown over a pool which was infused with water from the Well of Eternity.' said Illidan. 'And I am the one who made it. The power in this tree was mine by right if you must know. If I have used some small measure of its power to my own benefit before my brother destroyed it, I am more than entitled.'

'Fair enough.' said Arthas, before beginning to cast healing magic on him.

'You have put that sword to good use.' said Illidan. 'I doubt it could have found a better wielder.'

'Well, I suppose that is something.' said Arthas. 'What are you going to do now?'

'I mean to finish the work which I began with the death of Archimonde.' said Illidan. 'When I destroyed the Skull of Gul'dan I also gained access to Gul'dan's memories. I know where it was that he sought a power far greater than anything you have yet seen. I will use this power to destroy the Legion, once and for all.'

'That's rather ambitious,' noted Arthas, 'you might need help.'

'There are other powers in this world whose assistance I might seek.' said Illidan. 'Powers that have not yet shown themselves above the waves. You are, of course, welcome to join me.'

'I might take you up on that.' said Arthas, finishing the healing process. 'Still, there are things I need to see to first, my Kingdom for one.'

'Take your time.' said Illidan. 'I am in no particular hurry.'

For a time they rested beneath the roots of the World Tree, not speaking. It was over. At last, it was over.

* * *

Arthas awoke from a sleep he did not know he had taken to find that the light of dawn was rising over the horizon. lllidan was gone. Picking himself up, he made his way down the roots, and then he saw something which amazed him. The roots were regrowing in the early light of morning. And it was not just that. All across the blackened forest, he saw tree regrowing — their scorched bark healing with unnatural swiftness. Birds were already returning to this desecrated place. Druids could be seen working their magic to speed the process.

Arthas made his way away from that place, to a high place far from the World Tree. There he saw Medivh standing upon the edge of the cliff, his brown cloak flowing in the wind. He looked forlorn but hopeful. He looked like a figure straight out of myth.

'The roots will heal in time.' said Medivh. 'As will the entire world. The sacrifices have been made. Just as the orcs, humans and night elves discarded their old hatred and stood united against a common foe, so did nature herself rise up, to banish the shadow forever.

'As for me, I came back to ensure that there would be a future. To teach the world that it no longer needed guardians. The hope for future generations has always resided in mortal hands.' He turned around. 'And now that my task is done, I will take my place amongst the legends of the past.'

In a myth, this would be where the story ended. In tales told by future generations, this pretty speech would be made. The storyteller would end there, perhaps alluding to future adventures. The audience would walk away satisfied. Yet this wasn't a story. Arthas wasn't the audience. And after everything that had happened, he was anything but satisfied.

He'd done many great and terrible things for the greater good, and perhaps he'd do them again. However, what he said here was for himself.

'Fuck you, Medivh.' said Arthas Menethil, Prince of Lordaeron.

Medivh blinked and looked unsure of himself. 'I… didn't see this.'

'What did you expect?!' roared Arthas. 'My kingdom is in ashes! My people are besieged by undead! The Dreadlords still rule my capital; my Father and Mentor are both dead by my hand! The latter of whose ghost still hates me from beyond the grave. And that's not even accounting for the atrocities which even now resound across the world!

'No longer needs guardians?! We need them now more than ever! Of course, your speech implies that the guardians were of any help at all in the past! They weren't! Your mother let Sageras into the world through you! You let the orcs into the world through Gul'dan! The orcs brought ruin to many towns through the red dragon flight! And that's not even getting into what you are responsible for through inaction!

'What if you had told my father the plague's true nature?! He would have quarantined the region, and none of this would have been necessary! And for what?! So a secretive order of guardians had a master plan to inflict mass casualties on the Burning Legion! for the greater good!'

'I thought we already discussed this.' said Medivh in a tired tone. 'The fall of Lordaeron and everything else was an unfortunate tragedy. But it was necessary. Those that died did so for a greater purpose.'

'The Culling of Stratholme was an unfortunate tragedy that was necessary.' said Arthas. 'I didn't posture to my men about how wonderful it was that we'd slaughtered all those innocent people.

'I didn't do that because I hadn't done anything to be proud of.

'Just like you have done nothing to be proud of. You have watched innocent people die when you could have saved them. That is your legacy, Medivh. The legacy of our so-called guardians, whatever long term benefits the world might reap. Everything else was somebody else's work!'

Medivh was, for the first time since Arthas had seen him, speechless. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but there was nothing to say. And yet it wasn't enough for Arthas. It would never be enough. For he was now thinking about all the people he had killed, all the people he had watched die, helpless to save them.

Finally, Medivh looked down at the ground and cast his staff into the dirt. 'I'm dying, Arthas. Forgive me if I want to feel as though I have done something worthwhile with what little time I had.'

'What?' said Arthas, shaken from his anger.

Medivh walked forward without further words, leaving his staff behind him. Arthas found he could not leave things like this, and followed after him. Medivh moved with determined strides. Arthas could not catch up with him. At last, the Prophet halted within a little glade. There was a moonwell, and its crystalline waters reflecting the sunlight.

'It's ironic,' said Medivh, 'I have seen many futures, so many I cannot remember them all. I have watched universes where Archimonde departed this world freely. Where he reformed the Legion for the better. Yet no matter what the future, it always ends here. I always die.'

'I'm sorry.' said Arthas. 'I… you did make a difference. I was speaking in anger.'

'Believe it was far preferable to some universes.' said Medivh with a bitter smile. 'There are worlds where you stab me to death for the exact reasons you have said now. But he always overtakes me here, in this place. The strands of fate have a sense of humor; it seems.' He gasped and fell to one knee.

Arthas kneeled by him. 'I can heal you-'

'This is not an injury that can be healed, young Prince.' said Medivh. 'And in any case. I deserve it. For more reasons than you have stated. Did you know that I drained my own apprentice's life force to gain this time of life? I turned him into an old man before his time, to escape a fate which was justly mine.

'Now… that life force is returning to him.

'After my initial death, I fled to the Caverns of Time seeking immortality.' He said 'There I beheld many futures and gained the sight, and through it, I beheld my own failure, my own folly. In some futures, I strove to avoid it, but here… here I accepted it.' He gasped, clutching his heart. 'There is one other thing…'

'Yes?' asked Arthas.

'If you can find the caverns of time, they might hold a means by which Theramore can be saved.' said Medivh. 'My sight becomes distant after today.' Then he landed on his knees, and his entire body became ethereal, his very form was wavering like water. 'Farewell, young Prince, I wish that I might have saved your land…'

Suddenly he fell forward, and his cloak hit the ground empty. There was nothing within them. A gust of wind blew through the grove, sending the cloak flowing away in the wind.

'Farewell, Medivh.' said Arthas, feeling very bitter. 'May you find peace in whatever new life awaits you.'

As he stood there, he suddenly heard voices, though he could not find their source. One of them was his own. 'I dearly hope there is a special place in hell waiting for you Arthas!'

'We may never know Uther. I intend to live forever.'

Once more, he was alone. He turned and made his way into the trees.

* * *

In the aftermath of the death of Archimonde, no one knew quite what to do with themselves. Their victory had been so unexpected that for a few minutes people just stood where they were. Eventually, the soldiers began to rest, and tell stories with one another. And all praised the valor of Illidan, and to a lesser extent Arthas. Except for the Alliance, of course.

Almost as soon as people had recovered from things. However, orcs and night elves began to remember their scores against each other. Fearing that things might get out of hand, Warchief Thrall had taken his forces and promised future negotiations to discuss a formal end to their conflict. It was the best that could have been managed on such short notice. The Alliance and Horde had worked together for an entire campaign. So their hatreds had been dimmed. Yet until a few days ago, the night elves and orcs had been hated enemies.

Parting with mutual respect was an accomplishment in itself.

For their part Jaina and Tyrande walked amidst the trees, speaking of many things. Mostly Jaina would ask questions of Tyrande regarding the history of her people. She asked about the Well of Eternity and many other things, and the Priestess would answer as best she could. Jaina had a certain thirst for knowledge which reminded Tyrande of Illidan long ago. She found herself growing rather fond of the girl.

'Tell me,' said Tyrande, 'why is it that you have such interest in our history, girl?'

'I like learning.' said Jaina. 'My master Antonidas, he always used to tell me that no day is a complete waste if you learn something new from it. I… I don't even know if he's alive or dead at this point.

'I left before the attack on Dalaran. Given that Archimonde came into the world-'

'He is alive.' said a sardonic voice. Arthas entered the grove, and Tyrande's tiger bristled behind her. Tyrande scratched it behind the ears to calm it.

'Arthas…' said Jaina.

'At least I think he is.' continued Arthas. 'I managed to regain enough control of my will to spare him, and most of Dalaran. Unfortunately, Archimonde wrecked the place. So he might have died when the Violet Citidel was destroyed.' There was silence. 'Medivh is dead. Whatever spell bound him to this world faded, and he turned to dust before my eyes.'

'I see.' said Jaina. 'That's… sad.' Tyrande felt little at that revelation; she had barely known the man. 'You are terrible at apologies; you know that.'

'It wouldn't have any meaning in the first place.' said Arthas. 'I regret what I did, but I cannot take it back.'

'Then why are you here?' asked Jaina finally.

'I don't really know.' admitted Arthas. 'I thought I might inform you of my plans for the future before I went to enact them. I feel I owe you that much.'

'Which are?' asked Jaina.

'I intend to return to Lordaeron.' said Arthas. 'And reclaim my Kingdom.'

'Arthas,' said Jaina, 'I think the chances of that happening are… look it's a terrible plan alright. Why don't you stay with me? We can… we can build a new life!'

'That is not an option.' said Arthas 'I will not leave my ancestral lands in the hands of Dreadlords. I will return and destroy them. From there… I'm not sure. I suppose once I become the dominant power in Lordaeron, I'll have to restore order.

'I'll try to avoid fighting the Alliance if I can, but I doubt they will let me take back control so easily.' He paused. 'I guess you'll have your hands full here, rooting out the remnants of the demons.'

'Don't remind me.' said Jaina. 'The cleanup for this mess could last years. And I'll have to negotiate with the Horde and the Barrens Alliance.' She paused and looked to Tyrande. 'Actually, I wanted to talk to you about the possibility of your people and mine forming an Alliance.'

'Why would you want us?' asked Tyrande.

'Well…' Jaina paused, 'let's just say I don't see the peace with the orcs lasting forever, and I'd like to have an ally. I mean I doubt Thrall will start anything, but no one lives forever.

'It will benefit you as well of course. If you were unaligned, then the Horde could focus all their power on your nation alone. On the other hand, if you were part of the Alliance, then the Horde would have to declare war on all of us as well. Which means they would be fighting a two-front war.

'It would make a more aggressive Warchief think twice about things.'

'Your words hold some wisdom.' said Tyrande .'I will think carefully on them.'

'Right,' said Jaina, 'well when you decide you can find us on an island east of Duskwallow Marsh.'

'Duskwallow Marsh?' asked Tyrande, having not the faintest idea what she was talking about.

'Oh right, I named it.' said Jaina. 'Look I'll show you where it is on a map. The island is called Theramore; I'm planning to make a new home for my people there.'

At the mention of that name, Arthas went very white. 'You might want to set up some serious defenses.' he said. 'A fort on the borders, something very formidable.'

'We're still working all that out.' said Jaina.

They fell silent for a time as they made their way through the woods. At last, they came to the camp where everyone was waiting. There they found Illidan, sitting upon a fallen log in meditation. He looked oddly peaceful, more at peace than they had ever seen him. Before he had always been coiled for a spring, yet now he was resting.

A Druid of the Claw approached Illidan. 'Illidan, the council of druids will speak with you now.'

'Then I will not keep my brother waiting.' said Illidan, before walking past him.

'What is happening?' asked Tyrande.

'Shan'do Stormrage is calling a meeting of the Druids to pass judgment on the Betrayer.' said the Druid. 'His freedom was granted under circumstances outside of the law of Cenarius. Thus it must be reviewed by the Druids. You are welcome to observe.'

A mere formality, but Tyrande supposed it ought to be done if only to maintain the rule of law. With Cenarius dead, a pillar of night elven society had been removed. Much would have to change, and some things must be kept the same.

It was a great assembly. Illidan stood at the cent of several half circles of druids. His calm was evaporating to irritation. Jaina didn't blame him. If she had saved the world from Archimonde and survived, she'd want congratulations. Not to be called in for a lawsuit she wouldn't have been in a particularly good mood either.

Malfurion Stormrage was speaking with some other Druids. After a time he approached Illidan alone, looking very conflicted. For a moment he was silent. Then, with effort, he spoke. 'You've done it. I… I did not think any living being capable of achieving what you have and living to tell about it. You've saved all of Azeroth, and many other worlds besides that.

'I… I was wrong, brother. The words of Tyrande, spoken in anger, have proven wiser than my own.'

Illidan took a step backward. His expression looked shocked, and he opened his mouth to speak. Yet no words came out, and in his face, Jaina saw loneliness and vulnerability long concealed. Then Malfurion continued.

'That is what makes this all the more difficult.' The Archdruid said. 'I… can you conceive of what will happen once word of your achievements spreads? You, a wielder of fel magic, will have defeated one of the most powerful demons ever to live. Tales will be told of your deeds; people will want to meet you, speak to you.

'Know how you did it.

'Cenarius is dead, Illidan. The pillar upon which our society has rested for ten thousand years has been destroyed. Change is inevitable, even necessary, but… but not all change is good. After your triumph here… people will want to become like you. And with our recent alliance with the humans…

They may start trying to learn magic! We have just finally escaped from the grip of the Legion; we can't let you lead our people back to their teachings. You've saved us. But you'll destroy the very foundation of our society.

I'm sorry. However, the Druids have decided. Regardless of my personal feelings, I cannot defy them in this. You are a hero. And you must leave.

'Furion,' said Tyrande, 'you cannot simply-'

'The decision is made!' snapped Malfurion. 'I…' He reached forward with one hand. 'I banish you from Ashenvale, on pain of death.'

In an instant, Illidan's vulnerability turned to a snarling hatred, and he rose up to his full height. Jaina thought for a moment that he would kill the Archdruid where he stood. But he mastered himself, and his hatred was hidden from sight. He looked over each of the Druids in turn, as though memorizing their faces.

'Very well, brother.' he said, voice holding unfathomable hatred.

And he turned away without a word. He walked away alone from a group of people who he had saved. Jaina thought she had never seen a more tragic figure. 'If you want my personal opinion.' Jaina said. 'That was disgraceful.'

'This is not your concern, girl.' said Malfurion.

'He saved all of us.' said Jaina, and she would have said more. Yet there didn't seem to be anything left to say, nothing that could be stated diplomatically.

* * *

Many of the night elves seemed to share her views, and there were angry mutterings from every faction. On an impulse, Jaina turned and made after Illidan. She did not know the man well, but she could not bear to let things end on that note. He walked quickly, and she had difficulty catching up with him. In time, he halted as she approached. 'What do you want sorceress?'

'I…' Jaina paused, trying to think of something to say, 'you are a very effective demon hunter. I appreciate the help you were. I was wondering if you might be interested in employment.'

Illidan looked up in surprise. 'What interest do you have in me?'

'Well, the Alliance and Horde are going to have to hunt down the remaining demons sooner or later.' said Jaina. 'The last thing we need is a repeat of this fiasco. You could be a great deal of help.'

'Myself and the death knight have other business we must attend to.' said Illidan. 'There is an artifact on an island far from here we must recover.'

'Well I could help with that.' said Jaina, more determined than ever to get him to stay. 'I mean, I have contacts in the Alliance, and we are the biggest seapower in the world right now. Our fleets could deal with any unfortunate incidents at sea.'

'Are you threatening me?' he asked.

Odd that he should have jumped to that conclusion. 'No,' said Jaina, 'I'm just trying to help, alright. See if you stay here for a couple of months, then Arthas will stay there as well. He has good connections with the orcs. He saved them from a blood curse, and he might help smooth some things over. And anyway whatever your plan is, there is no need to rush into it. We may as well secure Kalimdor from the Legion first.'

There was a long silence. 'Very well.' said Illidan. 'I will consider it. What are your thoughts Arthas?'

Jaina turned around with a blush to realize Arthas had made his way up behind her. 'When did you learn to move so quietly?!'

'Somewhere along the line,' mused Arthas, 'from the looks of things you have managed to keep me around a while longer.' Then he looked up. 'My shades tell me that a group of Kul'tiran soldiers is approaching our position. Your Father is with them. I'm going to leave now.'

'That is probably wise.' said Jaina.

Illidan and Arthas stole into the trees, mere moments before the Kul'tirans came into view. Daelin ran to her. 'Jaina, Jaina thank the stars you are alive!'

'Father!' cried Jaina, feeling relieved to see him.

Her relief, however, was tempered. This was going to be one hell of an awkward conversation.

* * *

Kil'jaden had received the report from Kirrassan with stony silence. He heard of their utter defeat, of the death of Archimonde. The death of Tichondrius and Mannaroth and so many other valuable resources. He heard how in the aftermath of Mount Hyjal the mortal races parted. Not amicably, but respectfully. There had been no brutal bloodletting to settle old scores, nor a sudden betrayal.

The orcs and humans had packed up and returned to their own lands. Secure in the knowledge that they had saved their world. There had been no final spiteful bloodletting to ruin things. The enemy had won. And Archimonde was dead.

Kil'jaden did not trust himself to speak for a moment. Or for a moment more, and finally he cut the communication without speaking. Archimonde, his oldest and best friend, was dead. It hurt, and it hurt badly. Over the years he had found emotions such as friendship to be more a liability than a use. But he had never thrown away the mutual affection between the two. Neither had Archimonde.

He waited in his office, waiting for something. He could have blown the desk to pieces. He could have leveled the fortress and killed everything in sight. He could have done those things, and indeed he wanted to more than anything.

Yet he didn't. That wasn't his style, and in any case, his resources were limited at the moment. After a moment the door opened, and the blue-clad Mephistroth entered the room. Kil'jaden knew he was terrified out of his mind though he hid it well. And so he should be, for Archimonde would have spared no one for a failure of this totality.

Kil'jaden stood, very calmly. 'It is the opinion of many that you Dreadlords have failed.'

Mephistroth kept his head. 'Lord Kil'jaden, let me explain-'

'No.' said Kil'jaden. 'I have no patience for groveling.' He raised a hand, and the Dreadlord turned a paler shade of white.

'I only ask that I be allowed to explain-' he began.

Kil'jaden reached forward and gripped him by the throat with a spell. The seething anger he felt breaking out. He constricted a tendril of green fel magic around his subordinates neck. 'The Nathrezim's mission was to keep control of the Lich King. To ensure that he did not undermine our war effort. In that, you have failed me. And Archimonde has paid the price for your failure.' He released his grip, and Mephistroth fell to the ground gasping for air. 'Did you misunderstand your mission?

'No Lord Kil'jaden...' said Mephistroth.

Kil'jaden fell to one knee by him. 'Then how do you account for what has happened? We have met utter disaster. Our enemies are united. Our forces crushed. And the Dreadlords who were meant to prevent this very thing have failed.' He arose to his full height. 'Do you understand me, worm?'

'Yes Lord Kil'jaden,' gasped Mephistoth as he stood.

His pride was destroyed. It would be well to build him back up again. 'I am well aware of your quality.' said Kil'jaden. 'You, Anetheron and Tichondrius were among the greatest of my servants once. You have burned many worlds. Because of this, I will pardon your errors in judgment.

'Take what has happened on Azeroth make sure it never happens again.' He turned away. 'Now be gone.'

Mephistroth fled and shut the door behind him. For a moment Kil'jaden remained very still, emotions simmering within him. Then suddenly they boiled over. He grasped his desk and heaved it round to shattered against the wall. Papers and books were sent flying everyone. Roaring in anger, he unleashed a shockwave of dark energy. It consumed everything in sight, reducing everything within the office to ashes.

He would regret this outburst later, but for now, it wasn't enough.

Ner'zhul had escaped him. The Lich King had played him like a violin, deceived the Legion, and gotten away with it. Archimonde had not been able to find him. His armies were shattered. Yes, the Frozen Throne was no more, but it didn't matter. Ner'zhul's spirit was somewhere in Azeroth, laughing at the Legion. Laughing at him.

'He used me!' Kil'jaden roared. 'HE USED!"

Another was of power was unleashed, and the wall exploded outwards. The castle shook with the power which was unleashed. Kil'jaden breathed, his rage expended. Making his way to the edge, Kil'jaden looked upon the red skies of his homeworld. The blighted fields where life was grown only to be drained to death. The cages where prisoners were tormented for the entertainment of the populace. The sun was setting. He watched a city of the Eredar with all its shimmering and proud spires. Kil'jaden regained his composure.

No. No, the Legion was not out of this yet. The Eredar and the Succubi had scarcely been hurt in this war. Other races remained to them to call on. The truce between the Alliance and Horde would not last forever. The Lich King could not evade Kil'jaden's wrath forever. He would see himself avenged tenfold on the Lich King for what he had done on Azeroth. And then Azeroth would die, not a swift death as Archimonde would have given them, but a slow, screaming death.

It was the least he could do for Archimonde's sake.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

And here we have the final chapter, the epilogue. I'll admit I was somewhat unsure of what to do to round things off. This fanfic has been so long in the making that it doesn't seem possible to give everyone a proper sendoff. So I just focused on the characters of the night elf campaign, as well as the overall protagonists.

I kind of feel like the orcs got the shaft here, but oh well. I tried to expand on the final cutscene of Warcraft III. In that, it isn't even clear if the main characters even survived, aside from Tyrande and Malfurion. We had to wait until Frozen Throne to find that out.

The scene with Arthas and Medivh happened because it seemed out of character for Arthas not to call him on it. Medivh's kirk summation might be all well and good for us the players. We have just finished a really awesome game. But Arthas has just had his entire life fall apart. So yeah, he's not buying what Medivh is selling.

On a separate note, Mount Hyjal was the thing which should have made Kil'jaden get a personal vendetta. In the Sunwell Plaza, Kil'jaden tried to enter the world and failed. Big deal, that sort of thing happens all the time to demons. In Mount Hyjal, though, Kil'jaden lost his best friend, as well as some of his best Lieutenants. This is the single greatest defeat the Legion has suffered since the War of the Ancients, even in canon. And here it's even worse.

I've been working on the Mercyverse for so long now; I'm kind of sad to see this section of the story close out. Most of what I planned to happen has already happened, and I've hit most of the notes I wanted to hit. In regards to the possibility of a sequel, it's gonna be awhile. For one thing, things have gone so off the rails that I'll have to adjust my story and figure out what happens next. For another, I mean to at least complete Orcs and Humans before I start on Frozen Throne.

Thanks for reading guys, it's been a blast.


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